


Among the Ruins

by Angelaland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Dean Winchester, Barebacking, Bisexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Dirty Talk, Dom!Cas, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Foursome, Impact Play, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possessive Castiel, Possessive Dean Winchester, Prince!Cas, Prisoner!Dean, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sexually Experienced Castiel (Supernatural), Sexually Inexperienced Dean Winchester, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Soldier!Dean, Tantric Sex, Top Castiel, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, hedonist!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 89,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelaland/pseuds/Angelaland
Summary: One insignificant decision completely alters the trajectory of a soldier's life.Dean is a battle-hardened British soldier on a reconnaissance mission in the forests surrounding Bucharest at the beginning of the Crimean War. A moment of kindness leads to his imprisonment, he captures the attention of the hedonistic prince, Castiel.





	1. Tapped me in Bucharest

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! 
> 
> My summary is short, but I don't want to give too much away. I hope that you will enjoy this twist on Cas and Dean's love story. 
> 
> This is the first story I have posted on this site, so I'm anxious for feedback. It is always welcome and appreciated.

Leaves beat against him with a continual “thwack” as he tears through the forest; the hoard of his enemy are mere yards behind him. He can hear every foot fall, every breath. His speed is the only thing keeping their weapons in their holsters. Feet flying over dips and gullies, nimble and quick, in the hope of avoiding a misstep, a fall, which would mean certain capture. 

Around each large tree trunk, he turns marginally. The constant change in trajectory should be enough to make the larger group slow, even by a second or two. Ducking under a decaying log leaning across his path, he catches sight of an insanely steep path littered with jagged rocks and leading down to the river in the distance. He pops up from under the log, altering his course unexpectedly to get a better view of the body of water. The soldiers behind him shout what he can only assume are obscenities in response. 

If he can reach the river, he might have a chance to escape them. He knows that it must be the small tributary of the mighty Danube that he noted on his rudimentary map because he’s been running for miles and this is the only water that he has spotted. Following it would eventually lead him out of the dangerous land surrounding Bucharest. He could meet up with his men if only he could get these attack dogs off his tail. 

He approaches the edge of the path, looking down at the impossible angle. The angry mob is falling behind because they are wearing heavy packs full of clothes, provisions, ammunition, and clanking metal cups. Hopefully, they will choose to keep their possessions safe rather than continue the arduous chase after one lone enemy combatant. He sighs as he looks at the precipice again. It might be deadly, but it is his best chance. 

 

***** 

 

“Castiel!” Michael bellows from the entrance to the hall. 

From his position on the plush chaise lounge, Castiel lets out a beleaguered sigh but barely casts his eyes up over the top of his book of John Wilmot’s erotic poems. He says a hopeless prayer that Michael will somehow not see him and find another target for his ire. 

The gods are not on his side, as usual. His uptight prick of an older brother sees him and storms over for his unwelcome audience. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“That is the word that came out of my mouth, is it not?” 

Michael looks positively apoplectic. It’s far too easy to get under his sibling’s skin, and Castiel should feel ashamed for such adolescent behavior. He’s not. 

He lets the book drop marginally and squints his eyes. “Is there a reason for the question or did you confuse me for the mantle clock?” 

Michael scowls and relays with bite, “Alexander was expecting you in the parlor at 11 a.m. sharp. You were meant to attend the Marquess Massilian-la-Calmette with him.” 

“Who?” 

“The Marquess Massilian-la-Calmette.” 

“Poor dear. That is quite a mouthful.” Castiel picks a grape from the bunch on the tray at his elbow and pops it in his mouth with a smirk. 

“Castiel, Alexander does not speak French, and she does not speak Romanian. You knew the woman was visiting this morning. He is beside himself trying to communicate with her.” 

He studies his brother for a moment. “Why would he invite her here if he can’t speak to her?” 

“You were meant to be the interpreter.” 

“Why doesn’t he speak French?” He leans forward conspiratorially. “Is it a prejudice, do you think?” 

“I don’t know, Castiel. Which one of you was sent away to Paris to study for a year?” His brother is fed up enough to use sarcasm. That’s his subtle cue to dial it back a little. 

“Point taken,” he concedes graciously. He is making a valiant attempt to keep the smile from his face. He already told Alex that he did not want to court the woman, or any other noble, for that matter. He is fourth in line for the throne, so he is hardly a catch for the politically-aspiring aristocracy across Europe. His brother never listens, so he refuses to make this newest obsession easy for him. 

“She is here for you, you...libertine!” 

Castiel loses the battle and lets his grin appear. “Oh, well. That is easily sorted. I don’t want her. Send her away.” 

Michael deflates like a bladder. “Do you really want to deal with the fallout if you do not make an appearance?” Castiel can picture his brother’s unholy tantrum at being made to look foolish in front of his advisers and foreign dignitaries. Even though it would absolutely serve him right, Castiel decidedly does not want to deal with the repercussions. 

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel sets the book aside and stands. “I suppose I shall have to wait to find out what happens in St. James Park then.” Michael wrinkles his nose. 

“A man of your breeding and education should not sully himself with that trash.” 

“You’re right. I should just go out and experience the orgies and debauchery for myself instead of reading about it. Oh wait, I already have!” 

The disgust on his brother’s face is priceless. Castiel laughs on his way to the parlor. It really is just too easy. 

 

***** 

 

Dean was forced to drop his own pack ages ago, his too visible red coat being the first thing he discarded. Whoever decided to put Her Majesty’s soldiers in blazing red and send them into the verdant green forests of Eastern Europe should have their heads removed from their shoulders for their lack of sense. The color looks magnificent and bold in a parade, but gets men killed in the field. 

Even as he moves swiftly, Dean is thinking ahead, plotting out his next moves. He is a capable swimmer, but the water would be frigid. He wouldn’t be able to stay in the river for long. He glances up to the sky to note that it is already well into the afternoon. There wouldn’t be much daylight left to offer warmth or help him dry out. He would have to find shelter quickly, and a fire would not be possible. He clenches his jaw at the thought of his future discomfort. He hates being cold, especially when combined with water. Death’s icy fingers that sink bone deep and won’t be soothed. He has escaped their clutches too many times already in his short life. He knows he is on borrowed time. 

He leaps down from the top of the rocky ledge to a small outcropping about ten feet lower. Immediately, he can hear the shouts and curses of the men following him. He can’t understand their language, but he knows that they are at odds with each other over how to proceed. Some of the less driven soldiers are no doubt trying to convince the others to write him off as a loss. His foot slips on a particularly mossy rock, forcing him to grip tighter to the root he is holding or fall. A quick glance down informs him that it is not a fall he would survive. Adrenaline jangles his nerves a bit, forcing his breath to quicken, but he is still in control and thinking clearly. 

He chances a glance to confirm that his pursuers are still, well, pursuing. They are, but slowly. He grins. This could enlarge his lead. They don’t look nearly as deft and agile as he is in this terrain. Years of training in the wildest corners of the planet have honed his body into a war machine. His strength is unsurpassed, his survival and fighting skills highly coveted, and his tactical mind the best in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He has earned his place of leadership, despite his young age. 

Being on the run like this is exasperating to Dean. His pride sticks in the back of throat like a burr. He is too good to be caught out like this. He has spent days hiding in plain sight; his enemy never knowing that he was sometimes just a few feet away. If he had just let the kid stay in the tree, he laments as he grabs a handhold and lets his body swing down beneath the ledge. 

The youngest member of their platoon might not have been seen. The soldiers might have run past him without looking up. But even as he is berating himself, he knows it to be a falsehood. The young soldier is so green that he would have given himself away. He would have made a sound, he would have been seen, and he would have been captured. Even if the idiot put himself in the worst possible place to avoid capture, Dean couldn’t have left him there dangling like bait. So, instead of maintaining his perfect cover, he went out into the open to help the kid out. Unfortunately, the Wallachian soldiers picked that moment to come around the bend. 

One of those soldiers currently above him hurls a rock down at him along with a feisty curse. Both hit him square in the head, effectively ending his ruminations. Dean can’t stop his downward momentum, jumping down to grab the next jutting rock, even though he can feel blood dripping down his forehead. He ignores the laughter from above. They are losing focus, taking this chase too personally. That is why he will win, he thinks smugly. The blood settles on the slope of his nose until he is forced to look down to see his next jump. Stinging pain blinds him. 

“Shit,” he curses and shakes his head furiously to clear his vision of the dripping blood. Bad move, he thinks as his head begins to protest its rough treatment by the rock. He can’t chance removing a hand from where he hangs to wipe the blood away until he finds his next move and plants his feet on something solid. He can’t stop and let the dizziness clear. He opts to push through the pain and keep his eye closed. 

His next few steps are taken more carefully than he can afford, but his depth perception is off, and he is still maintaining a good distance between them. It’s a good compromise for now. Until, of course, one of the more industrious soldiers stops his descent and aims his weapon. Thankfully, being industrious isn’t synonymous with being a good shot, so the musket ball hits a few inches below his head. The rock shards explode outward, and a few catch his cheek, ripping the skin there. For truly the first time in this chase, Dean feels that escape is not certain. 

Instinctively, he moves faster, takes a few more calculated risks. Finally, his feet land at the bottom of the steep cliff. He can see the river. It is within reach. He can taste his freedom. Then, the sound of thunder cracking through the crevasse causes his shoulders to tighten. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. He sees another ball explode next to his left leg. Too close. He slows, debating the likelihood of escape now that there aren’t trees to provide cover. 

No. He will not surrender, even if capture is imminent. He will fight to the very end, just like he has been training to do since childhood. He speeds toward the riverbank, seeing that the current is swifter than he anticipated. It is ripping around the scattered rocks, causing it to foam up white. Damn, this is going to hurt. Dean braces himself as he dives in. No amount of preparation could have lessened the shock to his body. 

“Fuck, fuck, cold, shit” he hisses when he surfaces. He kicks a foot out to stop himself from slamming into a rock, which flips him around backwards. There are only two upsides to this horrid situation. The first is that the current takes over and allows him to not expend any energy swimming, and the second is that the soldiers are standing on the riverbank, no longer in pursuit. 

Dean lets out a boisterous laugh of victory. He still might die of exposure, but at least he escaped a nasty imprisonment. How could he have possibly explained why they are spying on their allies? Wallachia is part of the Ottoman Empire, England’s ally in the war against Russia. However, the area is in constant turmoil and has been for centuries. The small country gets passed around from empire to empire like a dockside whore. There have been too many rumors about information, supplies, and soldiers ending up in Russia for England to trust their weak alliance. That is where Dean’s squad comes in. Their mission was to find out what they could about the true allegiance of the crown prince. They are on a reconnaissance mission and getting caught would have caused a spectacular political nightmare. 

Dean spins back around to avoid any errant rocks in his path. He floats there, not peacefully exactly because tremors are starting to wrack his body, taking a moment to rest. He should have known that the capricious fates were not through with him yet. Around the bend in the river, he sees several men standing along the bank and a line of them linked arm in arm across the river. Some have muskets raised, a couple hold fishing nets, still others stand braced against the rocks in the water, making an impossible barrier. All of them are wearing open hatred and violence on their faces. 

Dean turns to make a last stand, valiantly pulling against the current, even knowing that it an inevitable waste of energy. Too soon, he is grabbed, pulled, and dragged towards the shore by innumerable hands. The cacophony of yelling around him overpowers the rush of water. When he looks up to see his captors, there are too many to count. They are all crowding in around him, so he can’t keep sight of them all. He is almost glad that he doesn’t see the blow from the butt of the musket coming, so the darkness can take him by surprise.


	2. Captured the Dreamer with a Thousand Thrills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is captured, Alastair is bat shit crazy, and Castiel scandalizes his brothers.
> 
> Our "star-crossed" lovers meet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so exceedingly thrilled by comments in the first chapter that it inspired me to finish up this one and get it posted. I used to think that comments weren't a big deal, but I was obviously horribly wrong. I will beg for them. I have no shame.
> 
> I'm sorry for the translation-heavy chapter. Most of the Romanian could probably be picked up from context, but I didn't want to leave you hanging.
> 
> Fratele meu = my brother  
> mic unul = little one  
> Ţuică = national drink of Wallachia/Romania. It is a strong clear liquor distilled from plums.  
> Nu vorbeşte limba română, proştilor! = He doesn’t speak Romanian, you fools!  
> Vorbiţi limba română? = Do you speak Romanian?  
> Uită-te la mine! and Regarde-moi! = Look at me!

He hopes the shouting will stop soon. There’s not a lot recommending that it will happen, however. His brothers are truly on a tear. The dense, earthy scent of opium smoke still permeates his chambers, making it even harder to concentrate not only on what they are saying, but why he should care. Mercifully, the squawking ceases. 

“For god’s sake, Castiel. Would you at least cover yourself?” Michael snips. 

“’m covered,” he slurs. Good, he thinks. That sounded like actual words. 

“Naked bodies lying on and around you do not quite count as cover, little brother.” 

At least Luke sounds amused beneath his reprimand. Wait. Bodies? Castiel struggles to prop himself up on his elbows to survey the expanse of his bed. He recognizes Inias and Hester, but he can’t seem to recall the other two. When the man rolls to his side so his face becomes visible, Castiel smiles, remembering how enthusiastic the dark-haired guard, whatever his name is, had turned out to be. Hester owes him a huge favor for enticing the young man into their play. He tilts his head to the side, considering. 

“Do either of you recognize the lovely with ginger hair?” 

The shocked gasp finally brings his bleary eyes up. “Not only are you found in the scandalous position of having four bed mates, but you don’t even know their names?” 

Castiel’s wicked grin slides up. “I didn’t really need to call them by name, Michael. ‘Yes, suck me, and don’t stop’ seemed to be sufficient.” 

“Your depravity knows no bounds.” 

“Oh, no. There are definite boundaries. I just haven’t found them yet.” 

Luke fights a grin and casts a glance to Michael. Seeing that the poor man has had enough, he takes over. “I’ll talk to him, Michael. You have other duties to attend to.” 

Michael looks grateful as he takes his leave. “He needs to be ready for-” 

Luke holds his hand up to placate him. “Yes, I know. I’ll handle it.” 

When the door slams, Luke raised an eyebrow at the youngest prince. “Really, Castiel? Suck me?” 

He sits up and stretches languidly, dislodging arms and legs that were wrapped around him. “He’s such a prudish prick, Luke. I just can’t help it.” 

A moment of silence hangs between them as he leaves the bed in search of clothes. Once Castiel has his robe on and belted, Luke continues gently. “He covers for you with Alex all the time, Cas. He takes on a great deal that should be your responsibility. He’s just worried about you.” 

Castiel pours clear, potent ţuică from the lead crystal decanter in his sitting room into two tumblers and hands one to Luke. 

“There is nothing to be worried about, fratele meu.” 

Luke looks around in surprise and takes a melodramatic whiff of the air. “Really? Nothing in this room seems like a reason for concern?” 

He purses his lips, but wisely makes no comment. He is aware of Luke’s opinions about his pharmaceutical explorations. Michael has no opinion because he isn’t aware that any explorations are taking place. The man is woefully clueless. 

“He wants you to take over just one thing, mic unul. That isn’t too much to ask.” 

Castiel bristles at the childhood nickname, and scoffs, “Yes, philanthropy!” 

“That’s a noble pursuit for royalty, Cas-” 

“We’re in the middle of a goddamn war, Luke. Surely you’ve noticed?” he interrupts. 

“All the more reason. The people need to see the benevolence of their rulers.” 

Castiel flops into a chair in a huff. “He’s just foisting off his least desirable tasks on me as punishment.” 

Luke pats his leg and sits down next to him. “Aren’t we petulant today? Michael carefully chose this job for you. He took your personality and... interests into consideration.” 

“Oh really, my ‘interests’? So, I get to host royal orgies and open opium dens?” Castiel sasses. 

“Don’t be an asshole. He recognizes that you have an intensely magnetic personality. He sees your need to be in control.” 

Taking a thoughtful sip from his glass, Castiel settles. 

“People adore you, Cas. You are devoutly devoted to pleasure, so just turn that devotion to pleasing others. This is a good fit.” 

“I’ll consider it,” he concedes quietly. He supposes that it is time he takes on the mantle of leadership, such as it is. His brothers have let him “acclimate” to being back from India for leisurely months. He feels a touch of guilt for being so indulged. Just a touch. 

“Excellent.” Luke stands, heading for the door while tossing back a parting command. “Be in the Turkish Room at 7 o’clock. An ambassador for the Bishop of Constantinople will be here to finalize details for his grace’s visit next month.” 

When the door shuts with finality, Castiel moans and lets his head fall back, uttering the one word that encompasses his feelings about the turn of events. “Fuck.” 

 

***** 

 

Dean slowly wakes, not from the noises of celebration around him, or the jostling of wagon wheels on the pock-marked road, but because of the uncontrollable trembling of his own body. He is momentarily disappointed that no one thought to cover him, but then fully remembers the situation he is in. He’s lucky to be waking up at all. 

Experience keeps his eyes closed as he assesses his surroundings. There are only five or six soldiers in the cart with him. The others must be following or leading, he surmises. Yes, he can hear hoof beats all around him. He can tell that the men with him are young. Some of their voices still carry the high notes of youth. He draws in a deep breath without calling any attention to the act. The scents of tea, oak, salt, and nutty grains all come to him. He is on a supply cart, which means they had to improvise a way to take their unconscious prisoner with them. A supply cart would have a cover over it to protect their provisions from inclement weather, so the only escape route is to the back. At each new jostling rut, Dean slides himself backwards minutely. He tenses each joint and moves them surreptitiously to discover no shackles anywhere. They continue to underestimate him, which will work to his advantage. 

After a lifetime of inches, Dean finally feels his foot touch the back of the cart. He doesn’t feel any warmth from the sun, so it very well could be full dark by now. He isn’t sure how long he was out. Dark is perfect, though. He may not be able to see, but neither would his captors. Once he is away, he has the skills to find himself and stay alive until he reunites with his squad. Sam will be tearing his hair out when Dean doesn’t return with his small contingent of soldiers. His brother knows protocol, though. He will stay nearby, quietly waiting for Dean to return to them. 

Suddenly, a whistle from ahead signals to the rest of the caravan. The cart slows, as do the horses travelling with them. They are stopping to set up camp. Dean’s lips twitch with a smile he can’t let form. This just became a whole lot easier. He wouldn’t have to fling himself out of a moving vehicle and chance being trampled by a close-following horse. He could wait until the squad of soldiers began setting up camp and sneak away. 

His patience is rewarded when all but one of the men pile out of the cart, intent on other duties. Dean waits until he can sense his guard’s attention wavering, and then he explodes into action. He knew his limbs wouldn’t be at their most stable, but he wasn’t prepared for their mutiny. He cants to the left, grabbing the canvas cover of the wagon to brace himself and sling the other leg out into freedom. With nothing to step out onto, Dean goes down to the ground backwards. Graceful, he scoffs. 

Instead of running, which is what they will expect, he rolls beneath the cart. His guard has alerted others to his escape, so he waits silently while his eyes adjust to the darkness. Men come running, gather at the back of the cart, and then scatter into the woods in small groups. He belly-crawls to the front of the cart, seeing one small gap in their perimeter. They did not send anyone directly in front of them. If he can keep this slow pace, not attracting any attention, he might make it to the front of the caravan and... 

Dean sees a pair of cavalry boots stop directly in front of him. He hears the sibilant tones of a voice sneering at him. He looks up at a harsh, twisted man, who is laughing now. Dean lets his head fall to the ground in resignation. It seems that the Wallachian army isn’t completely populated by idiots after all. Just his luck. 

He is unceremoniously dragged to his feet, one soldier at each arm, and then pinned to the cart by his neck. The snake-like commander hisses his displeasure as he tightens his grip. Another man steps up and swings his musket at Dean’s abdomen like a club. He would have doubled over, but the reptilian grip holds him firm. Air is scarce now, both his lungs and windpipe deserting him. It is the work of a minute for darkness to pull him under again. He wonders if it will be for the last time. 

 

***** 

 

Alastair is beside himself, infuriated. This single, lowly prisoner had his entire unit scrambling. Again. It was bad enough that they were led on a merry chase through the forest. When they finally captured him, Alastair had been incensed to find out that the man wasn’t even carrying a long-range weapon. Any one of his worthless men could have picked him off as he was running. This time he had almost escaped literally right under their noses. There wasn’t a single brain to be had among his entire platoon. 

Now, he will admit, killing an allied soldier, even if he is committing treason, comes with unwanted complications. Complications that would grow now that the man is in his custody. One of his men recovered the man’s pack, so he couldn’t even claim to have been mistaken for a Russian soldier. No, he is Captain Dean Winchester of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Alastair would be forced to answer for any mishaps that might occur. 

He now empathizes with how the mighty Napoleon must have felt as his attempt to conquer Russia failed so miserably. He must have questioned his own tactical prowess, his leadership abilities. A virile man in his prime who suddenly had to face a level of incompetence that all but shackled him. He could relate. 

Alastair resumes pacing in his tent, details of his plan coming together as he moves. Custody is the answer. He will bide his time, wait until he passes the prisoner to the care of Alexander, the mealy-mouthed crown prince. Then, and only then, would this miserable bug be squashed. A sick grin appears on his face. Winchester’s death would be tortuously slow. It would send a message throughout Europe to fear the brutality of the Wallachians. 

He snatches a linen from the table, scrubbing vigorously, as much cleaning the egg from his face as the young man’s blood from his hands. He looks down to where his prisoner’s body lay, steadily dripping blood its only movement. Unlike his lazy men, he does not leave anything to chance. He makes it absolutely certain that the prisoner will not wake while he is attending to other business. He spits violently into the face mottled with bruising and contusions, a humiliating parting gift as he carelessly steps over the prone form. 

 

***** 

 

Castiel escapes from the Grand Hall to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He takes a cleansing, steadying breath. Sometimes he needs the crisp cold burn in the air that he can only find near the mountains. While he was in India, he missed this the most. 

He has been paraded around in ceremonial velvet robes for the Archbishop and all manner of foreign diplomats for the entire morning. Even as winter is approaching, the air inside is still cloying. There are too many bodies all clawing for his attention, his regard. Yet, when he speaks, he can tell that they aren’t listening. They are simply biding their time until it is their turn to speak again, a polite dance that serves no purpose. When he does listen to the prattle, no one is actually saying anything. He shivers to remember one particularly numbing conversation he endured with the Duke of Gramont regarding the symbolism in his coat of arms. 

The quiet is shattered in a slow wave. First, soldiers appear from exits all throughout the castle, converging in the courtyard to simply wait. As they wait, their shuffling and muttering adds to the tension crackling in the air. Then, far in the distance, he hears horses approaching. As they round the bend into the bailey, the racket becomes absolutely deafening. Castiel ducks back inside to make his way downstairs. His curiosity is piqued. He wants a closer look. 

A mob of men converges upon the back of a supply cart. They grasp and claw until they get a firm hold on their prey. Rude hands pull him off the cart so forcefully that his head smashes into the neat cobblestones. He disappears from Castiel’s view as several men pile on him. One by one, they are pushed, tripped, and punched back far enough that the man can climb to his feet. ‘How is this possible?’ Castiel thinks, mind overwhelmed by the spectacle of such strength. In all the excitement, no one notices the prince in the crowd with them. Alastair, captain of the guard, is barking orders at the men to subdue the prisoner. Castiel rolls his eyes. Like that’s not what the soldiers are trying to do. 

Now that the prisoner has his feet, he is indomitable. He is breathtaking in his ferocity. When he lifts his head, a pained gasp leaves Castiel’s mouth. His face has been beaten so brutally that there is hardly any recognizable shape to it. One eye is completely sealed shut, nose swollen and twisted in a fracture. Castiel’s heart aches for this man. 

Alastair is yelling for him to kneel, but it is obvious that he isn’t understanding. Alastair snatches a musket out of the hands of a nearby soldier and shoves the barrel harshly into the prisoner’s temple. He goes preternaturally still. Alastair points to the ground and the man finally allows himself to be taken to his knees. 

Rowdy celebration ensues. Castiel can’t take his eyes from the restrained, but not tamed, soldier. Alastair announces the man’s crimes, recounting to all who was harmed, and all of the resources wasted in his pursuit. He is whipping his men into a frenzy and seems to relish them voicing their blood lust. The tension in the air has turned violent and it is setting Castiel’s teeth on edge. They take turns yelling about the horrifying things that they want to do to him. The prisoner is outwardly calm until the taunts turn bawdy. One soldier suggests that they whore him out to pleasure the troops, which still doesn’t get a response, until he catches the gesture. His eye opens wide, and he shouts, “NO!” He is so suddenly on his feet that the soldiers are taken aback. It takes them a second to catch up to him. 

Alastair has the gun barrel to his temple again, but it doesn’t receive the same reaction this time. Instead, the prisoner snarls in English, “Go ahead. Do it. You’ll have to kill me if that is what you have planned.” The captain looks confused but repeats his command to kneel. Castiel has seen enough. 

“Nu vorbeşte limba română, proştilor!” 

The soldiers are shocked to see Castiel standing among them. The mob parts for him and most of their blood lust shifts to sheepish embarrassment in the presence of their prince. Alastair makes an abrupt gesture like a bow, barely passing for correct etiquette. “Your highness, this is no place for you. This man is extremely dangerous, and I would hate to see you come to harm.” 

The hair on Castiel’s neck stands on end. The words slither into his ears, unwelcome. “I appreciate your concern, but I must intervene here.” 

“Military issues are not really your...expertise, my prince.” Alastair is too bold. Castiel steps into his space, holding his eye until his gaze slips away and down in forced submission. 

“You forget your place, captain,” he dismisses as he turns his attention to the prisoner. 

Dean has been observing carefully. Everyone in the courtyard treats this gorgeous young man with deference. He is not in uniform, but in vivid blue velvet. If the clothing didn’t give it away, his bearing would have. Without a doubt, the raven-haired beauty is royalty. Beauty? What the hell, Winchester? That is not how you describe a man. 

Castiel speaks calmly to Dean. “Vorbiţi limba română?” 

Dean wants to get lost in the cerulean blue eyes. He could listen to that whiskey over broken glass voice for days, even without understanding a word. He is mesmerized. 

Castiel tries again. “Vous parlez Français?” 

Dean offers a dopey smile through his bleeding lips and confirms, “Je parle un peu.” 

His voice is rough from panting and dehydration. Exhaustion dragging down every syllable. Castiel takes a moment to look back at the captain of the guard with disdain. His eyes scream what his mouth refrains from saying. He can hear some quiet snickers from back in the ranks. 

When he turns back to the beaten man, he notices that his eyes have taken on a glassy, vacant look. Castiel taps his cheek a few times to jostle him out of his haze. “Uită-te la mine!” 

Then he remembers, French, “Regarde-moi!” 

That brings him back around enough to focus on Castiel, but his head is loose on its swivel. This undaunted fighter is nearing the end of his resources. He will pass out soon. If he hits the ground, the soldiers will attack mercilessly for the chase and fight he has put them through. Castiel would hate to see this man hurt any more than he already has been. In fluent French, he asks, "If I promise that none of these men will touch you, will you stop fighting and allow yourself to be moved?" 

Dean is lost again. “Quel?” 

He slows down and asks simply, “Can they move you?” 

“Move me where?” 

“To your cell.” 

Castiel can see the fight struggle up and come back into his eyes. "I am a prisoner either way. Why should I not fight?" 

Cas quirks a lip and leans in closer, "Because you are embarrassing them, and they might kill you just for the satisfaction." 

"Why should I trust your word?"  

"Have I given you any reason not to?" 

Dean processes the words slowly and then nods his sharp assent. Castiel smiles at him and gestures for the soldiers to proceed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Old Master Painter" (Frank Sinatra)
> 
> Comments are lovely...
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	3. Pencil Portrayals and Jealous Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is hanging on by a thread, but his life will take another very unexpected turn.  
> Castiel can't seem to do anything right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't very nice to either of the boys in this chapter, but it is necessary. It gets worse before it gets much, much better.
> 
> Romanian:
> 
> Războinic = warrior  
> închisoare = jail/prison
> 
> Enjoy! As always, comments and kudos are marvelous.

Boredom is the devil’s playground. Castiel is bored, and he can say, with rather impressive certainty, that nothing good will come of it. His philanthropic pursuits aren’t giving much of a chase, the castle is close to empty now that winter is almost upon them, and he has been feeling a gray, out of character ennui. He wants to ask after the British soldier, simply for a sense of closure, he reasons. Whether it is pride or self-preservation that stops him, he isn’t sure. 

Just as he contemplates going for a ride on his favored Carpathian pony, Războinic, he spots another of his favorites. Hester and another young woman that he doesn’t recognize are gossiping as they move hurriedly towards the kitchens. Licentious thoughts percolate as he follows them. He knows Hester will indulge him. It doesn’t take more than a look to have Hester panting for him anymore, but the other girl is an unknown quantity. The thrill of a challenge is just what he needs to dispel his boredom. 

Hearing the word ‘prisoner’ halts his feet before he can make his presence known. Servants know everything that goes on in the castle, and their gossip contains more truth than anything overheard in the council room. 

“I can’t believe he is still alive, to be honest,” exclaims Hester. 

“A few more visits from Alastair and that will change,” the other girl confirms. 

Castiel’s throat squeezes around the images flooding him. This is intolerable. Not only did he personally give his word that the prisoner would not be harmed, but this is barbaric and inhumane treatment. Alexander can’t know about this situation, or he would never allow it to continue. A tickle in the back of his mind tries to disagree, but he shoves it away. His brother, while a constant pain in his ass, could not be intentionally cruel. Could he? 

It takes a great amount of cajoling before Alexander’s chamberlain finally grants him an unscheduled audience with his brother. It irks him, but he will be patient with the formality in order to get what he wants. 

“Castiel, I wasn’t aware that you knew where our offices were.” 

The warning shot fired across the bow, and Castiel must literally bite his tongue to keep the snide retort from escaping. If he wants better treatment for this prisoner, and God help him, he does; he must deal with whatever abuse Alex heaps upon him. 

“I know you are a busy man, brother, so I try to avoid unnecessary interruptions.” Ah, diplomacy. 

Alex snorts in derision. “Which translates to: you are too busy with your infamous trysts to bother being ‘necessary’ to your family.” 

Castiel tries to lighten the mood, “You were my age not so long ago, Alex. Surely you sowed your share of wild oats?” 

The glare he receives back settles that question. He swallows dryly. It has not passed Castiel’s notice that he has not been asked to sit. Best to just skip the chit-chat because his brother does not appear in a mood for it. 

“I came to make you aware of the egregious treatment of one of our prisoners. I felt it important that the crown prince be personally informed.” 

“How is it that you came by this knowledge?” 

“I overheard servants discussing his deplorable state, your highness.” It rankled to tack on the title, but he didn’t let it show. 

“Is this pillow talk, Castiel?” 

“What? No. They were talking in the kitchens.” 

A menacing look crosses his brother’s face. “One does not necessarily preclude the other where you are concerned, now does it?” 

Shit. You get caught having an enthusiastic threesome in the larder one time and you can never live it down. He clears his throat and trudges on. 

“Be that as it may, this was an innocent conversation.” 

Alex flips a penknife as he listens, then stops abruptly to ask, “Why do you care?” 

“He is a human being, Alex. We treat our dogs better than he is being treated. Doesn’t that bother you?” 

“Our dogs are useful. And loyal” he counters, sniffing haughtily. 

Castiel’s rage bubbles up now. “I gave my word!” 

“And what is that worth, hmm?” 

As the question is meant to be rhetorical, he simply clenches his jaw, seething. 

“Your actions have consequences, little brother. Your existence is frivolous, flitting from one vice to another. Is it any wonder that you have no one’s respect; that your word is not worth the breath it takes to utter it?” 

Alex finally stands and walks around the desk. 

“The captain of the guard is particularly keen on punishing this prisoner, which is well within his job description. The man is a soldier of one of our allies, and yet he was caught spying on our returning troops. Who knows what his squad has planned, how many lives they might try to destroy?” 

He is struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice and continues. “I am not asking you to release him. I am simply asking that he not be beaten anymore. If my pleas for benevolence don’t move you, think of the international repercussions if he dies.” 

Challenging Alexander in any way is dangerous. He may see it as provocation. He may think Castiel is trying to take his title, which, no thank you. He is not cut from the right cloth for that job. He starts to sweat as the scowl turns into wicked glee. The crown prince barks out a laugh and claps Castiel on the shoulder. 

“If you care so much for this prisoner, this traitor, then he will be your responsibility.” 

Castiel can only gape at him. He isn’t sure he understands what his brother is suggesting. 

“Yes, I like this solution. You never replaced your houseboy when you returned?” 

The pieces are coming together. “No, but you can’t possibly be suggesting that -” 

“Oh, I can and I am. The prisoner will be indentured. He will serve the royal family as penance for his crimes against us.” 

“He is a soldier, not a house servant.” 

“He should have thought of that before committing espionage against his allies.” 

Castiel is running out of arguments. “He is dangerous.” 

Alexander leans against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. If Castiel is anything, he is a master at reading body language, so he realizes that the decision is already made and fighting it is futile. 

“Of course. I would not risk your safety, little brother. He will remain shackled.” 

His sigh concedes his defeat. “Where would you like me to house him?” 

“He’s your servant, and he poses a flight risk, so it would be best for him to remain in your sight as much as possible. He’ll stay in your chambers.” 

 

***** 

 

All the way to the închisoare, Castiel plans what to say to the prisoner. From their one brief conversation, he knows that the man’s command of French is barely passable, and there is no way that Cas is ready to reveal his knowledge of English. That’s a priceless bit of subterfuge that he’s held onto for the long months that he has been back in the country. He refuses to waste it now if it isn’t necessary. 

So, how to approach the dangerous, highly-trained soldier? Castiel doubts that his typical style of sardonic wit will translate, even if it wouldn’t be wildly inappropriate given the situation. He could try for gentle empathy, but Castiel knows fuck all about emotions. The only feeling he truly understands is lust. Ask him how to tease out someone’s desires and use them to shatter them to pieces, and he can deliver every time. Ask him to persuade a shy lover into giving in to what they so desperately want? He’s capable, and they will thank him profusely afterwards. Ask him to give exquisite pleasure to one person or a room full of people, and he will have them begging for more. 

This, though? How can he explain this? How can I possibly explain that in trying to help him, I caused his indentured servitude? Hands fly into his hair and grip tight to displace a little of the intense frustration. “Goddammit!” he screams, startling those around him like a flock of sparrows. 

No matter what he says or doesn’t say, at the end of the conversation the prisoner will be shackled and brought to his new life of servitude. Castiel abhors this situation, hates to be the cause of it, but at least he knows that the man will not receive another beating. He won’t suffer any more physical pain. Head resolute, scowl deep and dangerous, servants and guards alike leap out of his way and his line of sight as he crosses the courtyard. 

When he sees what has become of the brave man since their last meeting, all other thoughts flee. A keen ache chokes him. He feels the prickling of nausea deep in his jaw. It has been days, and he obviously hasn’t been cleaned at all. Old, dried blood covers everything. The floor, the straw palette, and even the walls carry the stain of his torture. He looks around the cell and doesn’t see a single sign of food or water. Have they starved him, as well? The smell is vile, and it crushes Castiel’s heart. He will never understand humanity’s inclination towards cruelty. 

He allows his pragmatic mind to take over, cataloging the numerous tasks that must happen to get this man safely settled in with him. Distance is best, he believes. He can easily see himself being compromised by this man and his bizarre connection to him. He clears his throat to attract the man’s attention. There is no response. 

“Hello? Wake up, please.” When his words don’t work, he tries clapping and stomping. Nothing. 

Castiel orders the closest guard to fetch the physician and prepare the man for transportation. He gives the guard’s partner a laundry list of tasks that must be done. When they both remain staring at them, he snaps his fingers at them. “Now, gentlemen.” 

Gratefully, they scatter with suitable haste. He looks back into the cell to see that the prisoner’s head has turned to face him. The swelling has gone down over his eye, so the prince can see that there are indeed two hazy eyes trying to focus on him. 

“I’m getting you out of here,” he states in French with steadfast authority. 

“Release?” he croaks. 

Castiel blinks back emotional weakness. “No, I’m sorry. The crown prince won’t allow that.” 

“Where?” It sounds like every word is scraping away a piece of his soul. 

“You will be...working for me.” 

There is no response. Castiel crouches down to the man’s level, taking away some of his strain to bring his eyes up. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.” 

Dean struggles to move his mouth around the syllables. “Win-” 

“Win?” 

A small head shake, “Winchester” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Winchester.” 

He shakes his head again and says, “Dean.” 

Castiel tilts his head to the side, intensely studying Dean Winchester. His fascination is growing. 

“Hello, Dean,” he murmurs. “I’m Castiel.” 

The smile he receives in return melts through him. ‘Oh, don’t give that trusting smile’, he silently begs. ‘You will soon come to hate me.’ 

 

***** 

 

Dean can’t believe his luck. He couldn’t have imagined even a handful of hours ago that his life would lead to anything but a miserable existence among the rats, snuffed out too soon. Now, he has been given medical attention, bathed, shaved, and dressed in warm, soft clothing. From his plush seat, he takes in the opulence of the room. It is magnificent and meant for royalty. The rich red carpet is thick and patterned. The gilded walls and furniture sparkle in the light cast by the chandeliers. At one end of the room, four steps lead to another room, divided with velvet curtains. He can see a large poster bed draped in black silk and furs beyond them. The air smells of spicy, earthy incense, reminding him of both his time in India and Sunday Anglican services. 

He knows this is too good to be true. This is too perfect, too easy. Red flags are cropping up everywhere. Why is he suddenly being spoiled and pampered? Castiel is obviously royalty, but he doesn’t hold enough political sway to free him. If he even tried. Dean shouldn’t assume that Castiel is an ally. He has involved himself in Dean’s situation twice, but why? What is the upside for him? He knows better than to trust this easily. Yet, he can’t help but have soft feelings for his apparent savior. The guards by the door haven’t taken their eyes off him. They glare and shift uncomfortably. ‘Right back at you’, Dean thinks. 

The door opens and two young women enter with trays of food. The aroma of cooked meat reaches him before they do, and he is already salivating. He has to call upon every iota of will power to stop himself from face-planting into the food and scarfing it down like a glutton. 

“The physician warned that you should only eat a little bit at a time to prevent you from getting sick. You need to let your stomach get used to the rich foods slowly.” 

Dean looks up at the gravelly voice. Castiel had entered the room behind the servants and he hadn’t noticed. He notices now and his eyes refuse to leave without taking in every possible detail. He vaguely remembers his reactions to the man in the courtyard - his completely inappropriate and out of character reactions. Dean swallows hard. Never in his life has he thought about a man in any but the most platonic way. Castiel is different, though. For some inexplicable reason, he is hitting every one of Dean’s lust triggers. He moves with such confidence and grace, masking a wild energy sitting just beneath the surface. The chaos of black hair combined with deep blue eyes and pouty full lips all make his palms ache to reach out and touch. When he sits across from Dean and focuses his complete attention on him, a shiver runs up his spine. ‘Alright, that’s enough of that’, Dean snaps at himself. ‘Stay alert!’ 

Seeing Dean without the layer of blood, dirt, and survival instinct takes his breath away. Guilt rages through his brain. How dare he lust after this broken creature. In the contoured candlelight, his bruises are shadows. So many dark shadows. Beneath them, though. There is a beauty that is beyond this mortal plain. Castiel aches to brush those cupid’s bow lips with his fingertips, with his tongue. Would Dean open to him? 

They stare for long moments, lost in each other, in their own imaginings. They forget everything, until the guard approaches with the iron reality of Dean’s new existence. It still doesn’t register when the first cuff locks on his wrist. 

Castiel will truly regret only a few things in his life. This moment, when he sees the open admiration drop from Dean’s face, to be replaced by stinging betrayal, will be among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from a Dan Fogelberg song, "False Faces". Hate the song, love the line.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	4. Hast thou Performed to Point the Tempest that I Bade Thee?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is enslaved, learns more than he ever wanted to know about his new master, and discovers things about himself that he wishes he could forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. 
> 
> This chapter earns its rating, so there's that. Don't get too excited because while Dean and Cas are in the same room when it happens...well, you'll see.
> 
> I'll put specific warnings at the end of chapters so they don't spoil anything. If you think you might be offended by something, please check there first.

When he wakes, Castiel listens to the sounds in his chambers for a few moments before opening his eyes and letting the world in. Silence dampens the air except for the cheery crackling in the fireplace. It must be far past dawn, he surmises. The servants have already been in to stoke the fire. His breakfast will be waiting for him as well. He knows that Dean is in his chambers somewhere. The guards would have woken him if he had tried to leave. He wonders where his new servant slept. He had offered his bed, as it is the only place in the large apartment of rooms near the fire, but Dean’s scathing hurt spoke volumes. That bright spark between them had been violently extinguished. 

In fact, when Castiel had finished explaining their new circumstances and eventually taken his leave, Dean sat implacable, staring down at the shackles around his wrists and ankles. Not a single complaint uttered, but Castiel assumed it was due to shock and not because Dean was simply accepting his fate. He would tread lightly. 

When he emerges from his bed, he finds Dean asleep on the chaise lounge in his sitting room, wrapped in fur. Even with the fur, he is likely not warm enough with it being so close to the bank of large windows. Obviously, the spot was chosen for its location, not its comfort. It is essentially the farthest spot from Castiel that he could find. He tries not to let the thought stick too deep. 

It is his favored spot to read, curled up on the pillowy frame and surrounded by towering natural light. He’s fine giving up the spot because he doesn’t have time to read today anyway. Other things require his attention before he leaves on a short trip. He and Luke are required to speak for Alexander in the neighboring province of Moldavia, and the matter must be handled before the roads become impassable. It is a drudgery, but in this case, it is also convenient. 

He will give Dean time. Time to wake up, time to acclimate to his position, time to get to know his new home and those who live there. Castiel hopes that someday they might be friends. When Cas looks up from his yoga practice, he catches the sleepy look of disdain glaring back. Apparently that day won't be today. 

Dean wakes to a sacred smoke, calling him to worship. It catches in his senses, opening the rusty doors of his forgotten memories. He can hear deep rhythmic breathing somewhere in the room. So, he is not alone. Realistically, he might never be allowed to be alone again. He isn’t sure of the length of his sentence, or how seriously they are about keeping him here. He has so many questions, but he is afraid of their answers. 

He sees movement, a hand raised and peeking over the edge of the chairs opposite him. He sits up quietly, not wanting to catch Castiel’s attention just now. Stretched out prone, only his palms and toes touch the mat beneath him. Everything else is suspended in perfect parallel. Without warning, except the explosion of power, he moves to tuck his knees to the back of one arm, resting forward on his hands. The prince is wearing loose, flowing pants and nothing else. Barefoot and shirtless, sweat wets his back, and a single drop sliding down into the dip of his spine. He holds the pose for an eternity. Dean’s pounding heart betrays what he is trying to tell himself. He wants nothing from the prince. The denial tastes sour in his mouth. 

Speak of the devil, he smoothly stretches his tucked knees outward while moving the upper leg all the way behind him. It is patient, controlled, and so much more difficult in its slowness. Dean can’t help but be impressed. Those are valid feelings, he allows. This is a striking display of strength and fitness. What he will not allow is the dry mouth that craves a taste of his salty skin, or the fingers that want to feel the tremble and heat of his long muscles. Castiel moves into a headstand, and then slides back to his feet. His eyes look up just as Dean hides his desire behind his anger. 

 

***** 

 

Dean spends his morning learning how to cater to the bratty prince’s every whim. The sheer volume of tasks that he will be expected to perform for the man tips his mood toward cataclysmic. 

“Will I need to wipe his ass for him, too?” Dean barks in disbelief at the poor boy who is trying to teach him. Marius, being Michael’s chamberlain and the only French-speaking servant, has plenty of experience dealing with tantrums, and answers bluntly. “If he asks you to, yes. Your job is to do whatever is necessary to make him comfortable.” 

Dean’s mind crosses into dangerous territory. Panic lights up his nerves. “We aren’t...I mean.” He clears his throat and tries again. “I won’t be expected to...relax him, though. Right?’ 

Marius rolls his eyes. “No, he takes care of those needs on his own...or with several other participants.” 

Dean’s relief is short-lived, however, because the end of the sentence, coupled with chuckles and blushing, worries him greatly. 

“What?” 

Marius looks up at him and leans in to tell his gossip. “Your master is...adventurous. Sex, for him, is frequent, varied, and often includes many others.” 

Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “Many others...at the same time?” 

Marius just nods his head with a sympathetic grin. 

Dean groans and covers his eyes. What could he have possibly done to deserve a life of servitude to the second-coming of Casanova? 

 

***** 

 

He is setting out food that a kitchen servant, Alina, brought in earlier, when Castiel tumbles into the room with another man and two young ladies. From their uncoordinated movements, Dean can tell that they drunk. Not blackout drunk yet, but on their way. ‘Excellent’, he cringes. ‘I get to babysit Castiel and his aristocratic friends.’ 

He turns away from them to continue his task. Their drunken giggles and slurred words grate down his spine. Add to it the shift and clang of his chains and he is experiencing his own symphony of hell. 

One by one, they flop down on the furniture in the sitting area. They chatter for long minutes in the beautiful syllables of Romanian. Dean grinds his teeth because it is exasperating that they don’t even acknowledge he is in the room. None of them, even Castiel. If they want an invisible servant, he will be happy to oblige. He walks quietly away, well, as quietly as his bonds allow, hoping to escape to the little office area of the suite. Castiel notices and tracks his movements. Apparently, he isn’t the only one. 

“Why haven’t we heard about this gorgeous creature locked up in your chambers, Castiel?” Malory whispers with lusty intent. 

He simply grins and agrees, “Yes, he is a work of art, isn’t he?” 

Hester jumps in to tell the story. “You don’t have to be quiet, Mal. He doesn’t speak a word of Romanian.” 

“How do you communicate with him?” 

Castiel needs to move this evening along. This acquaintance of his is beautiful and open to anything he suggests, but a conversationalist she is not. The sooner he can fill her mouth, the better. 

“He speaks French passably.” Castiel notices that Dean halts mid-step when he recognizes the subject of their discussion. He looks back over his shoulder to see Castiel’s intense focus on him. 

“Do you think we can convince him to join us?” Hester asks hopefully. 

Castiel quirks an eyebrow in question to Dean, who is starting to understand that this is not a double date. He shakes his head curtly and continues to the desk. 

Hiding his disappointment, he teases, “I don’t think so, love. He is angry with me at the moment and would most likely strangle me if I let him near my neck.” 

While the others twitter at his wit, he shifts his focus to the seductive brunette, and she immediately comes alive under his gaze. Her breaths come faster, her cheeks pinking up. Her ancient husband, the Count von Racowitza, cannot bed her properly, so these trysts are the highlight of very lonely days. 

Castiel kisses her deep, slow and satisfying. As he stokes her fire, he removes layer after layer of clothing. He would give anything to live in the tropics, he decides. One simple layer of clothing and he would have his prize. Once they are both unwrapped, he flips their positions so that she is straddling his lap. His skilled hands alternate between kneading her breasts, pinching her ruby pebbled nipples more intensely, and then soothing them with feathery touches. Her hips are already arching into him, guttural moans wrenching from her throat, and he hasn’t even gotten his mouth on her yet. He forgot how vocal this woman could be with the right motivation. A wicked idea strikes him. Since Dean won’t join them, he’ll endeavor to give him the show of a lifetime. 

He slides the woman off his lap and signals for the others to join him on the chaise. He lies back on it and brings Malory back to straddle him. She sinks down slowly, his hips rolling in circular grinds, quickening her descent. When she is fully seated, mouth gaping open as she absorbs the absolute bliss of being filled by his cock, he asks sweetly, “How many times do you think you can cum?” 

“Maybe twice,” she breathes. 

“Oh, I think we can do better than that, don’t you?” His smug look receives a shiver in response. “In fact, I’ll bet that between the three of you, I can wring out at least five orgasms before I have mine.” 

Adrian meets his eye over Hester’s head. His eyes are blazing with lust. “I’ll take that bet.” 

He is the only one of Castiel’s friends that he has ever considered for a relationship. They have been fucking for years, and they share similar tastes. He could be content with Adrian, he thinks. There’s just never been anything more than lust and sweat between them. No lightning in his veins, nothing transcendent. 

Malory is tightening around his cock already. “Okay, sweetheart. I can feel that you’re ready to get this first one out of the way. Let’s get you there.” 

She doesn’t have time to respond before he grabs her hips and pulls her down into fast, dirty grinds. As she bounces on his cock, breasts swaying with the pounding he is giving her, she screams, “Yes, yes, yes, Castiel!” The words haven’t left her mouth before a violent orgasm overtakes her. He watches the lovely sight of her trembling and twitching with pride clear on his face. 

While he slows his pace to allow her to enjoy the afterglow, he directs Hester to straddle his head, facing her friend. He gently pushes forward against her spine as he brings his knees up behind Malory to nudge her forward as well. The women fall into each other, languidly kissing and stroking pale skin. When he has them settled into a rhythm, he pulls Adrian toward him. 

“You haven’t fucked me in ages, my prince,” he comments as Castiel’s hand goes to his uncut cock; the flushed head peeking out. 

“I only have one prick, my greedy boy, but I’ll fuck you before the night’s over.” 

Once he gets the man well on his way towards his release, thumb brushing over the head before every stroke down, and middle finger sliding across his perineum on the way back up again, he uses his right hand to pull Hester’s hips toward his mouth. Hester loves oral sex more than penetration, so he knows she’ll cum like a steam engine once he buries his tongue inside her. Keeping all three rhythms going at once is tricky, but Castiel is a master at splitting his attention. He gets lost in the writhing bodies, the feel of soft skin sliding against his. It’s almost enough to forget that Dean isn’t within reach, that he denied him. What he wouldn’t give to have that man’s mouth on him, to feel the tight muscles ripple beneath his hands. Adding thoughts of his ferocious warrior to the other stimulations already encompassing him forces out a gut punch of a groan and sends a shiver through him. He quickly clears his thoughts. There’s no way he can last as long as he needs to with thoughts of Dean in his head. 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean breathes out in awe. He doesn’t want to be a voyeur. He tries to give them their privacy. He turns to face the wall behind him, and he struggles to do what is right. But when the woman screams Castiel’s name with such unabashed reverence, his eyes seek them out without his permission. 

His mouth drops open in shock as he processes the sight before him. Castiel is not just participating in group sex. He’s not just fucking and sucking and stroking. He is the epicenter of the tempest. All three of them are completely in his thrall. Fucking amazing. 

He has never witnessed such debauchery, such licentious acts. His experiences with sex have been positively biblical compared to what is happening in front of him. He wishes that he could deny being aroused. He can’t. Even though he has no desire to be among them, he can recognize the carnal pleasure of live pornography. He hates it, though. With every shred of his tattered soul, he wants to battle back his body’s reactions. It is positively demoralizing to lust after the man who has stolen your freedom and turned you into a slave. 

Even so, as Castiel’s bed mates give up orgasm after orgasm, he can’t help his curiosity. What would it be like to be in the hands of someone so obviously skilled? Could he actually let a man touch him? His cheeks explode with heat as he let the thoughts wander into a tentative fantasy. 

He registers voices and lifts his eyes again. Both women look completely and thoroughly sated. They can only stand with assistance. Leaning on each other, they wander past him towards Castiel’s bed. When he turns back, his heart seizes up. Castiel is holding the man’s face in his hands and licking deep into his mouth. He pulls away gently, fond eyes tracing over him. This scene is more intimate than anything he has witnessed tonight. He moves the man over to a chair, puts him up on his knees, draped over the back, and, oh god. Oh god! He’s not. He can’t... 

Dean slams his eyes shut. He can’t watch this. He can’t know this. Pulse pounding, his breath is coming ragged and panting. He can hear every wet slap of skin on skin, every sigh and moan, every whispered affirmation. Dean has to look. He has to see what they look like together. 

Castiel is radiant. Bee stung lips, chaotic, sweat-drenched hair, flushed skin. Dean has to palm his erection to provide some relief. Thankfully, he is hidden under the table. Dean watches in horrified wonder as Castiel approaches orgasm. At the last second, he pulls out of the man, strokes his cock roughly a few times, and cums over his back with a deep shudder. 

It’s only after Dean starts breathing again that he realizes that Castiel’s eyes are on him. Dean can’t look away. He is prey caught by a predator. Castiel, while still lightly tugging on his cock, licks his lips and levels a look at Dean that has him terrified. Castiel wants to devour Dean, take him apart, and own him. 

Dean is not a coward. He is fierce and valiant, willing to rush into battle. Knowing what Castiel wants shakes him, though. In his first knowing act of complete and utter cowardice, Dean slides his eyes to the floor and refuses to look up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains group sex, specifically a foursome. It is M/M/F/F pairing.
> 
> Chapter title is from the Bard himself... The Tempest, Act One, scene 2
> 
> Also, if you are interested in seeing the yoga poses, they are Parsva Bakasana then Eka Pada Koundinyasana I
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	5. One was just Vicious and One was Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shame, guilt, lies, plotting, and lots of pining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> This chapter contains some homophobic ideas and thoughts, all period-typical.
> 
> The only Romanian is curvă puțin, which means 'little slut'.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean’s feet are weighted and aching from the shackles. The heavy chain between them is too short, forcing his strides to stay much shorter than his natural gait. He is being escorted to the crown prince for an audience, which Marius explained to Dean in French while he was helping him get dressed. Again, the iron bonds interfere with the simplest of tasks. 

He’s surprised that it’s taken this long to begin his interrogation. After all, he’s been enjoying their hospitality for several weeks now, and beyond informing him that he is essential a slave to the royal family, they haven’t given or asked for more information. He was given his own clothes, which means that they recovered his pack and know who he is. Someone must have been curious. The captain of the guard had been murderous and beat him with enthusiasm, the sadistic fuck, but never once asked a question. The language barrier is definitely an issue, but nothing insurmountable. It shouldn’t have kept them from charging him for a crime at the very least.

The guards keep snapping at him, pushing him to move faster, but he can’t. One particularly cheap shot knocks him sideways, and Dean spins on the guard, stepping in close with stone gaze challenging. They stare at each other with malevolent intention, and Dean really wants him to make a move. There is one good thing about his fettered hands. The chain makes a deadly weapon. He might be able to use it only once, but it would be worth it to put fear into the rest of the guards. These toy soldiers are soft. They’re restricted to the palace, where drunk courtiers seem to be the extent of their battle experience. He doesn’t give Dean the satisfaction, but they do finish their journey without any more goading. 

He isn’t surprised to see the ostentatious display of wealth when he enters what appears to be a war room. Every inch of the castle that he has been allowed to see, with the obvious exception of the prison, has been spectacular. This room is overtly masculine; heavily-carved mahogany wood, intricate crown glass windows, and dark oil paintings. What does surprise him is Castiel’s presence at his brother’s right hand. Dean hasn’t seen the prince for more than two days. 

The morning after his forced voyeurism, Dean had woken in the desk chair, neck kinked up from the uncomfortable position he had slept in. He had thought briefly about returning to the chaise that had been his bed since his arrival, but after what Castiel and friends had done that night, he never wanted to sit on it again, let alone curl up and sleep. 

With dawn’s light, clarity had returned to Dean. Shame fell in a waterfall over him; nausea, guilt, embarrassment, and disappointment inundating his mind. What he had seen had been a grievous temptation brought on by his unnatural and inexplicable attraction to Castiel. He had been shocked by the acts he had witnessed and overwhelmed by lust. He couldn’t let himself be afflicted by those sinful inclinations again. What Castiel wanted, the way he lived his life, was wrong. 

In England, sodomy is a crime. Dean has seen and heard of men who were ostracized, imprisoned, and even killed because they were convicted of having sex with men. Even if he did feel desire for the exotic prince, he would be a lunatic to act upon it. Dean has responsibilities to more than just himself. He is the eldest son who will inherit a landed title. He cannot, and will not, bring scandal to his family’s doorstep. Additionally, Dean is an officer of advanced rank in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He could be killed for an affair of this kind. Some ships were known for their stories of buggery and male prostitution, but it is most definitely not tolerated. 

Dean had given Castiel a cold, silent reception that morning, feeling it best to discourage all feelings between them. After a frigid day, Castiel disappeared without any word of when he might return. Apparently, this meeting is Dean’s notification that he is back. He is pulled out of his musings by a waspish question from the crown prince… in Romanian. Dean continues to hold his gaze just over the heads of the royal brothers. He cannot give in and make eye contact with Castiel. His resolve is not yet strong enough to sustain looking into those beautiful eyes without weakening.

Castiel is conflicted by seeing Dean again. The man has completely healed and even put on some healthy weight. He feels pride that he could make those changes happen. That good feeling lasts until the chains shift on his legs, calling attention to the other changes Castiel is responsible for. Guilt swallows another part of his soul. He feels sullied by the feeling, filthy to the bone. Between the constant reminder of the chains and Dean’s refusal to meet his eye, he had left his chambers days ago and had not been able to force himself to return. On top of everything else, he is a coward. 

He is here strictly as a translator for Dean, so he will just focus on that for the time being. “The crown prince is asking why he has been kept waiting.”

Dean doesn’t answer, simply points to his ankles, which makes Castiel even more aggravated by this situation. 

“Good point,” he says, and turns to his brother. “Alex, he is locked in my chambers with guards posted at the doors. I think the leg irons are a bit redundant and, in this case, inconvenient.”

“You are the one who reminded me how dangerous he is.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You and I both know that he is only dangerous to those who attempt to harm him.”

“You really believe that he will make the distinction between enslavement and physical harm?”

“Well, he hasn’t tried to murder me in my sleep, and he has had ample opportunity,” Castiel raises his voice.

“Yes, a terrible shame,” Alex snaps back louder.

Castiel sees the confusion on Dean’s face. “I apologize. My brother and I do not agree on how to proceed.” 

He receives a curt nod in response. He waits, hoping that the man will make eye contact or at least acknowledge him. He yearns for that easy smile Dean graced him with just hours after his prison release. It had made his heart sing, and after knowing that warmth, this detached reception is all the icier.

“Let’s get on with it, there are urgent tasks to complete before the ball,” Castiel affects an air of boredom to mask his discomfort. Being near Dean is making him anxious, not a familiar emotion to him. Typically, Castiel is in firm control of his mind and body. He does not second guess himself. Nothing about this situation with Dean is fitting with anything Castiel has known before. He is adrift.

“Yes, of course.” Alexander straightens and begins his questioning, zeroing in on the most important information for them. “Why were you found outside of Bucharest when no other British troops are stationed within a three-day journey from there?”

Castiel dutifully translates, watching the prisoner’s facial expressions for hints of falsity. 

Dean simply states, “I got lost.”

It is such a ridiculous statement, that a laugh escapes Castiel. Since his arrival, stories of his strenuous attempt to avoid capture have circulated the castle. This man is highly trained and lethal. He could probably be dropped into an unknown country without resources and emerge unscathed. A quick side glance at his brother tells him that Alexander doesn’t believe the story either. 

“You…got lost.” Castiel repeats.

Dean pulls a bashful smile. “Yeah, it’s embarrassing, really. I was out on patrol and got a little turned around. I didn’t have my map with me, and I just kept getting deeper and deeper into the forest. I didn’t know I was anywhere close to Bucharest. Wow. It’s a good thing your soldiers found me. I might have died out there all alone.” 

The earnestness in his speech is startling. Even though Castiel knows Dean is putting on a blatant show, he is still tempted to believe him. He files that information away for later. Dean is a masterful liar, which is a dangerous skill for an enemy to possess. Even thinking the word enemy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t want this man as an adversary, not at all.

“What did he say,” Alexander interrupts his thoughts. 

“Oh, he just explained how he came to be lost.” 

“And?”

“And what? That’s all he said.” Castiel squints at his brother.

Alexander rolls his eyes. “Do you believe him?”

Castiel bites his lip, caught between loyalties. What he reveals now would alter Dean’s course. “Yes,” he lies. “I think he’s hiding some things, but I don’t think he had nefarious intentions towards us.”

Dean isn’t the only one capable of deceit. Alexander scrutinizes him, but Castiel keeps his gaze guileless. 

“It doesn’t explain why he ran from our soldiers, but I’m willing to believe it for now. Once I gather more information, I’ll decide on his punishment.”

Castiel scoffs. “Don’t you think he’s been punished enough? He’s a slave, for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh, enough with the melodrama, little brother. He’s living like a king, tucked away in your chambers.” Alex levels him with sneering judgment. “I’m sure he’s availing himself of your considerable talents. What more could the man possibly want?” 

He doesn’t deny what Alex is suggesting because if Dean had been amenable, he definitely would have been sharing his ‘talents’. The word drips with sordid connotation. Castiel never feels shame for how he lives his life. Instead, he flaunts it, especially to those who disparage him for it. Suggesting that Castiel is fucking his unwilling servant, however, leaves him feeling unclean. He feels more like a whore in this moment than any time he’s been on his knees with a cock shoved down his throat.

Dean can’t interpret the words that cause the prince’s cheeks to pink up, but he fully understands the tone his brother uses. He is demeaning the younger man in a way only family can. Dean sees Castiel’s shoulders drop as his head hangs. He has never seen the prince cowed, and he decides that he doesn’t like it. He fidgets against his instincts to act, causing the chains to shift again. Castiel looks up, sad eyes meeting his for the first time in days. He speaks with quiet deference to his brother. 

“Will you allow his feet to be unshackled?” 

Alex leans back with a mocking laugh. “Why, is it too hard to fuck him in chains? I would have thought that was something you were into, curvă puțin.”

Castiel swallows back bile. “Is that a yes or no?”

“Fine, the guards can take off the leg chains.”

Castiel stands, gives his brother a curt bow, and leaves the room without another word or glance towards Dean. The guards are called over once he is gone and Dean is manhandled into a chair. They make quick work of the iron bands, and Dean is left lighter, if not baffled at the exchange that led to this new development. It looked like Castiel had negotiated on his behalf at some cost to himself.

 

*****

 

Alastair is incensed by the sight in front of him. His prisoner, the one that had been stolen from him, is walking out of Alexander’s office with less binding him than when he went in. It was bad enough that they attended to his wounds, moved him to royal apartments, and stuffed him with sumptuous food. From his hidden position, Alastair bemoaned that he couldn’t see a single mark on the man. It is a travesty that he walks comfortably, without any of Alastair’s punishments branded into his skin. Only two weaklings guard him on his way back to his seat of luxury. He scoffs to see Dean tower over those who are meant to subdue him. If he wishes to be free, it would take him but a minute to disarm and disable them. Fools. 

He is aware that Castiel is to blame for his cuckolding. Everyone in the castle talks about the benevolent prince who rescued the poor soldier from certain death. They sigh and coo over the sweet story. Meanwhile, he must mind his tongue or face treason charges himself. At first, he couldn’t believe that Alexander allowed such weakness. It was later confirmed by his network of eyes that Dean had been seen in Castiel’s chambers. Then, when servants whispered this morning that Dean would be visiting the crown prince, he spotted the youngest prince exiting the council room shortly before the almost entirely unfettered prisoner.

Vicious intent focuses on both the prisoner and his savior. Alastair plots carefully. Now that a member of the royal family is in his sights, his plan must be infallible. He will bide his time and observe the two men. Once he has found the way to inflict the deepest wound, the harshest pain, he will strike. They will both be sniveling at his feet for mercy that they will not receive. Visualizing their downfall has him hardening, and he adjusts himself not so subtly. He licks his lips as he fantasizes about their screams. 

 

*****

 

Dean is greeted by a veritable fog of smoke in Castiel’s chambers. Somewhere deep in the dense white, he makes out the outline of the prince. For the first time, the guards seem to sympathize with him before shutting the doors. Long minutes pass without words from either of them. Seeing as it is his current job to serve, he hesitantly asks if Castiel needs anything. 

“That is an excellent question, Dean.”

Silence hangs for too long after his response.

Dean furrows his brow in confusion. “Is there an answer?”

Castiel giggles, actually giggles, which worries Dean immensely. This man has hardly smiled since he’s known him, and now he is erupting in fits of giggles? 

“Yes. I need so many things, Dean.” Castiel pulls another lungful of smoke from the long pipe and then releases it to the ceiling. 

“Respect, love, honesty, loyalty, pleasure, communication, touch…” he trails off in his thoughts for a moment before his eyes roll up to meet Dean’s. They are glassy and unfocused. “Can you give me those things, Dean?”

Dean clears his throat and steels himself. “Some. I can give you some of them.”

Castiel watches him as if trying to extract truth from his mind, and then he snorts out a laugh. “You probably can’t give me the ones I want from you.”

Dean sighs in exasperation. He does not want to deal with the flirtation, and he is not in the mood to try to interpret double entendre while translating into a second language. “Probably not,” he confirms before he walks over to the pallet he made from extra blankets finagled from the household servants. He flops down on it, suddenly tired.

“Can I offer some advice?” 

“I suppose.”

“Be careful with what you tell my brother. He accepted that preposterous farce today because I told him that I believed you. He does not trust easily, though, so if there is evidence out there that goes against your story, he will be looking for it. If he does find it, he will be ruthless in his retribution. Do I have anything to worry about?”

Dean clenches his jaw, trying to combat the desire to be completely honest with the prince. What is he willing to reveal to the man who has lied to his family and in the same breath committed treason? For Dean. Shit. His need for self-preservation has to come before any loyalty he is coming to feel for Castiel. He must remember that they are essentially opposing forces. Whatever kindness he gives doesn’t negate the fact that Dean is being forced into servitude.  
“No, uh, nothing to worry about.” The lie is bitter and acidic. He despises himself for his next thoughts. He should try to extract as much information from Castiel as he can while he is intoxicated. ‘Sure, Dean. That shows integrity,’ he taunts. It doesn’t stop him, though. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why is your brother not the king?”

“Why are a principality of the Ottoman Empire at the moment. We are not allowed to have kings, merely princes.”

“Are you next in line?”

Castiel huffs out a laugh. “No, I’m fourth in line. My brothers Michael and Luke are second and third.”

“Why is the castle here and not in Bucharest?”

“This is technically our summer home.”

“You realize it’s winter, yes?”

Castiel grins, loving this simple banter with Dean. He realizes that his questions are tactical, that the man is trying to extract intelligence from him, but he is still charmed. There have been so few kind words between them that he can’t help but savor them.

“Yes, but this castle is more defensible.”

“So, you are expecting an attack? From who?” Dean needs to tread carefully. Castiel’s tongue is loose now, but he’s too smart not to pick up on Dean’s intent if his questions become too probing. 

“The Russians. Remember? We are supposed to be allied against them?”

“Is that why the Empire is accepting outside assistance?” 

“I don’t presume to understand the thinking of Sultan Abdulmejid, Dean, and he certainly isn’t confiding in me much these days.”

Castiel absorbs the sound of Dean’s amused chuckle like it is life-sustaining manna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Camper Van Beethoven's "Oh No!"
> 
>  
> 
> Comments give me a funny feeling...
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	6. No Good Deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean plots his escape while the castle prepares for its last social event before the snows arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> What I had originally planned for Chapter 5 became too unwieldy, so it has spilled over into this chapter. I'm only a handful of chapters in and already overflowing...
> 
> Enjoy some lovely moments between Castiel and Dean before... well, I don't want to spoil anything.
> 
> In case you're interested in seeing the castle where Castiel lives, it is Castle Peles in Sinaia, Romania. His chambers are based on the Imperial Suite.
> 
> Romanian: 'mic unul' means "little one". 
> 
> I would love to hear more feedback! Just throwing that out there.

Dean had kept the prince talking until the ephemeral poppies dragged him under. He shared all manner of information with Dean with no reluctance whatsoever. Taking advantage of Castiel’s friendly feelings for him smacks of betrayal, but it also provides him with a perfect escape plan. The castle is teeming with energy after a long drought. The last social event of the year is almost upon them. Before winter descends in a blanket of white over the mountains, the Wallachians gather for a last big party, a grand ball.

Whirlwinds of activity swirl through every room and occupy every mind. This is just the window of distraction Dean needs. Castiel will, no doubt, be drunk, drugged, or so buried in other bodies that he will not spare a thought for his reluctant servant during the entire night. Dean knows that his guards can be cajoled into letting him use the privy if he whines enough about hating chamber pots. Once behind them, he can sneak away from them easily enough. He is housed at the back corner of the castle, closest to the Bucegi Mountains. Yes, Castiel’s chambers are on the fifth floor. Yes, he will have to wade through the crowds on the third floor during the party without being recognized, but he’s still escaped worse situations.

There are very few details that need to be ironed out before the big event tonight. Thankfully, Castiel is utterly distracted by his brother, Luke, right now. Dean is surreptitiously packing a cloth sack full of essential gear for his trip. He has been hoarding food for days, stashing away other handy items as he came across them. In addition to his food stores, he has a sturdy cup, a knife, a makeshift fishing hook and line, and even a box of phosphorous matches. He has never camped in such luxury. 

The only hitch in the plan is his inability to put on any warmer clothes on his top half. They would have to remove the wrist bands to do that, and he hasn’t gained that trust yet. No matter, he won’t be here much longer. Everything is riding on this escape. If he doesn’t succeed, he will not get another chance until late in the spring. 

*****

“So, what is this news you can’t wait to share?” Castiel teases Luke as he takes his only remaining bishop. 

Luke scowls at the board in concentration and then moves his rook into a moderately safe position. 

“I’m getting married, mic unul.” Luke’s smile is the dawn breaking the horizon. ‘He is happy’, Castiel realizes with some surprise. It has been so long since any of the brothers experienced true joy that it is startling. 

“Is this the Boyar’s daughter?”

Luke actually blushes a little and nods, “Lilliana Dobrescu.”

Castiel leans his head on his hand and asks, “Tell me about her?”

As he listens to his brother talk about his love, there is a pang in his chest. Not jealousy, not really. It is a yearning, but not for what Luke has. He wants to find his own version of love; find the person that will make his heart race, challenge his mind, and remain loyal to him for the rest of his days. 

"I am so happy for you, Luke,” Castiel says warmly. 

“We are announcing the engagement tonight at the ball, but I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

Castiel uses his knight to draw Luke to advance his king. He furrows his brow as Luke’s words register. “Did you think I would be upset?”

“Well, no, not about the marriage.”

“About what, then?”

“Once we are wed, we will be moving back to the city.”

A knot of dread clenches in Cas’s stomach. He doesn’t let it reach his face. “That’s not too long of a journey,” he says with weak brightness.

“I’m not concerned about that. I’m worried about leaving you with Michael and Alexander without a buffer.”

Castiel pats his hand, lips trying to quirk into a smile but giving up midway. “Don’t worry about me, dear brother. We’ll be fine here while you whisk your lovely bride away to Bucharest.” 

Luke frowns knowingly. “Castiel, that is absolute bullshit. I fully expect that one of you will end up throttling one of the others before the end of the year.” He pauses to move his king. “Now, the question is which of you will end up dead?”

“Please tell me you aren’t placing bets,” Castiel barks out a laugh. 

Luke returns a sly grin. “No, but that’s a fantastic idea. We could replenish the royal coffers. Maybe pay the Empire to return our country to us?”

Castiel doesn’t mention that his teasing could be viewed as treason. He takes a sip of his drink, plums bursting on his tongue. “I’m sure if you cut me in on the deal, I could intentionally exasperate Alex even more, push him to strangle me…” Castiel closes the trap on his brother. “Check.”

Luke moves his king out of harm’s way. “That’s the point, brother. I don’t want them to hurt you, and you obviously have no sense of self-preservation.”

Dean brings a tray of bread and cheeses over and sets it near the brothers. Both of their eyes linger on the man for different reasons. Castiel murmurs his thanks.

“I know you aren’t content with how he came to be here, but I am glad that he’s here. He can keep you safe,” Luke states quietly.

“I doubt he would raise a hand to protect me,” Castiel denies. “I imagine he would rather have the privilege of running me through.”

“No, he feels loyalty to you. You may not see it, but he doesn’t lower his eyes for anyone else. He glares holes into Michael’s head whenever they are in the same room, and he terrifies the guards. For you, he is all quiet gentleness.” He lets that sink in a bit before he continues. “Winchester is intelligent, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Castiel nods his agreement. “He knows you are doing your best to help him.” 

“I want to do more.”

Luke leans in closer. “What do you have in mind?”

“How can I let the Royal Navy know he is here?”

Luke’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “That is bold, mic unul, even for you.”

Castiel watches the look of longing on Dean’s face while he stares out the large windows. “Maybe, but I’m going to do it. Will you help me?”

“Keep my name out of it?”

Castiel winks. “I can’t have Alex expending that hateful energy on anyone else, can I?”

*****

Dean stands waiting for Castiel to finish shaving. His eyes follow every smooth line of the razor with envy. Melancholy fills him at the thought that he will never have the opportunity to follow that same line with his fingertips. They itch with the need to feel the smooth skin revealed beneath the typical dark stubble. In fact, there are precious few minutes left before the prince will finish dressing and leave for the ball. Dean will never see him again. 

Castiel can feel Dean’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t try to provoke a reaction. He lets the man look his fill, hoping that these days of intimately attending to his dressing and undressing are finally wearing down his resistance. If he would only soften a bit towards Castiel, they might become friends while they are waiting for the Royal Navy to come retrieve their ‘errant’ soldier and take him home. He hasn’t told Dean what he is doing on his behalf, wanting it to be a surprise once he has a confirmed response from the British.  
Dean takes the protective towel from his neckline and wipes away a spot of shaving cream that he missed. Their eyes meet in the mirror and lock. Castiel sees sadness in the reflection.  
“Dean, what’s wrong?”

He opens his mouth to speak and thinks better of it. He pastes on a false smirk and replies, “I’m not looking forward to getting this coat on you.”  
The blood red coat is tapered from neck to hips in a long line of small buttons beneath frog closures. The fit of it is tailored to Castiel’s frame, and it requires a button hook to close each of the dozens of buttons. Dean holds the coat up to allow Castiel to put his arms in. Once it is on, Dean slowly slides his hands down the line of his shoulders. While he is ensuring that the coat lays right, the firm touch is for him. In a few long drags of his hands, he tries to memorize the feel of the muscle beneath his hands. 

Castiel closes his eyes when Dean’s thumb grazes the skin of his neck. He’s been dressed by servants his whole life. There is nothing overtly sexual involved. With Dean, though, in these quiet minutes, every finger sends electricity pulsing through him. Dean is standing too close, moving too carefully, focusing solely on the man in front of him. In the mirror, Castiel sees emotion that he knows will disappear if he turns around. This, at least, he has come to understand about the soldier. Dean will let him see his raw desire, allow himself to feel it, as long as he isn’t forced to acknowledge it.

As he buttons each tiny button, cinching the prince into the restraining garment, he lingers. His hands span the prince’s ribcage, tugging the coat around him to button more easily. His fingertips dig in wherever they touch, hungry and rough. They both feel it, and thankfully Castiel does not push him or speak. 

He must go to his knees to finish the lower buttons. When he finds sharp hipbones under his palms, he bites back a moan. He swallows hard on the last button. His task is almost done, and he desperately wants it to last. Looking up finally, he sees Castiel appreciating the view before offering his hand down to help Dean to his feet. He can’t help but smooth his thumb along the long line of his elegant fingers as he lets go.

With every layer Dean puts in place, Castiel feels more uncovered. The eroticism of this reverent dressing feels more potent than most sexual encounters he’s experienced. By the time Dean adjusts the black silk sash over the coat which marks him as a member of the royal family, his breathing is quick and his hands tremble. Dean has a fine blush painting his cheeks, lips parted, and eyes guileless. Castiel allows himself to touch his cheek gently in a grateful gesture. Unexpectedly, the man closes his eyes and leans into it. Dean appears to be touch-starved which would make sense in his line of work. When he opens his wide, mossy green eyes, Castiel lets his hand drop. 

“Be good, Cas,” Dean says fondly.

Castiel smiles at the endearment. Dean is coming around. 

*****

Dean makes it through the crowd easily enough. The dazzling colors, sparkling jewels, and flowing liquor keep one lone man nearly invisible to the wealthy and aristocratic. Honestly, he could probably be juggling fire and the self-absorbed elite would not notice him. 

He regrets that his escape from the guards became rougher than he intended. They caught him sneaking away, and Dean had to render them unconscious and barricade them in the privy. That kink in his plans cut his timeline drastically. He had planned to have until morning before anyone noticed that he was gone. He now just has a couple of hours, depending on how long the guards sleep. He should have twisted their necks to give himself a better head start, but it just didn’t feel right. He would make do with less time and keep his conscience clear.

His path out of the castle grounds and into the forest takes him through the elaborate gardens behind the castle. Thankfully, this somewhat hidden path was revealed by wheedling it out of Castiel while he was high. This shortcut will save him close to an hour. His simple question about where the prince liked to take his horse for a good ride had resulted in a treasure trove of information about the land surrounding the castle. In a few minutes, he would find the gate that separated the gardens from the wilderness, and he could move more swiftly. Making it to the tree line was the biggest obstacle. Once there, he would be home free. 

*****

Castiel usually enjoys the final ball of the year. The winter is long in Sinaia, and he welcomes having new people at court, even for the short time they will stay. This time, however, he can’t take his mind off the man in his chambers. He wonders if he has spent enough time with the sycophants yet to please his brothers. With a touch of excitement, he plans to feign a headache and retire early.

A flurry of activity halts his daydreaming. Soldiers from the garrison, not the typical castle guards, are flooding into the ballroom, weapons in hand. The guests startle and flitter out of their way like a flock of birds who spy a cat in their midst. Castiel is angered by this rude display and moves to intervene, until he sees Alexander at the head of it looking around with intention. His eyes light on Castiel and turn malicious. Startled a little himself, he doesn’t have any idea what Alex could be angry about. He has actually been on good behavior for days. 

“Traitor!” Alex bellows at him, face gone red, and so worked up that spittle falls from his lips. 

Castiel couldn’t be more shocked if he had sprouted wings. “I beg your pardon?” he yells back, indignant fury backing him. He vaguely notices that the entire ballroom has gone funeral silent.

“You helped him escape!”

Castiel is left gaping as his mind races to make sense of what his brother is accusing him of. He just doesn’t have enough information. “Who?”

“The British soldier.”

“Dean?” His surprise is genuine, but Alex ignores it and snorts in derision. He shares a look with Alastair, the vile captain of the garrison who looks much too pleased, jubilant even. “Yes,” he hisses. “Your lover, Dean Winchester.”

Castiel is still caught on the words escape and Dean being used together. “He is in my chambers. I left him there before dinner.” He didn’t have time to deny his relationship with Dean before his brother interrupted.

“No, Castiel. He was just caught trying to escape.”

“That’s…that can’t be true. I just…” Flashbacks of Dean’s last words to him replay. ‘Be good, Cas’ he had said. What he had meant was goodbye. Dean knew he was about to leave. He planned this. 

Betrayal squeezed down on Castiel, giving him weight that threatened to buckle his spine and send him to the ground. Bolstering himself, he kept his head high and kept the waver out of his voice. “I had no idea he would try to escape.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I wouldn’t betray you, Alex.”

Alexander went quiet, a sure sign that he knew something that would vindicate him. 

“You begged me to remove his leg irons.”

“It was impossible for him to do his job with them on,” he countered.

“How did he know about the gate behind the gardens?”

Ah, there it is; the damning evidence. 

Dean had never been allowed in the gardens, so there would be no way to know it was there unless someone specifically told him about it. Castiel sighed, his heart dropping. Dean used him. He used him without regard to the repercussions. He swallows thickly. No matter. Castiel will not cower. 

“I told him.” 

He expects his brother’s wrath. He knows it is coming. The force of the blow still takes him off his feet. He hears the scandalized gasps around him and the murmuring whispers. Alex can humiliate him, but he will face it with as much dignity as he can muster. He stands up again. 

“We were talking about riding horses, brother. I had no idea that the information had any tactical value.”

“Then you’re an idiot and a fool.”

Castiel glares, fists clenching at his side, but he keeps silent.

“If you weren’t of royal blood, you would be heading to the prison. Unfortunately, you are a prince.” He looks at his younger brother with disgust. “You are confined to your chambers indefinitely. We will talk more before your trial.”

Castiel doesn’t fight. He lets the guards haul him out of room, hoping that they make it to the exit before his tears start to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	7. Cherry-Flavored Neck and Collar, I Can Smell the Sorrow on your Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel buries himself in his vices and Dean takes his punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, all:
> 
> I wanted to let you know that my winter break is over, (don't cry, don't cry) so my available time to write will slow down for the foreseeable future. I won't stop, but it will take me longer to get new chapters up. 
> 
> Also, the weirdest thing happened today:
> 
> I was kayaking, and I heard this awful screeching from over the tree line. I kept watching to see what was happening to this poor osprey, who I could only assume was being murdered. A huge bald eagle flew right over me with a big fish in its talons, and the little osprey giving chase behind him. 
> 
> If this had been a dream, I'm sure it would mean something significant.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. We're getting much closer to actual Destiel smut...

“No! Absolutely not!” Castiel jumps to his feet and storms towards the guards when they wrestle Dean into his chambers in fresh leg irons. “He is not welcome here!”

The prince notices from surreptitious side glances that Dean looks like he’s been pulled through a keyhole backwards. Good. He hopes it hurts.  
He feels like a petulant brat, but he can’t be in the same room with Dean right now. Castiel is vacillating between wanting to throw his arms around his neck, thankful that he is still here, and wanting to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. Regardless, Dean needs to be out of sight for awhile.

“We were ordered to bring him here,” the guard replies, confused. 

“And I’m telling you to take him elsewhere. Go back and tell whoever gave the order that they will need to find another solution.”

The guards blanch at the thought. Shit. The order must have come from Alexander directly. When they confirm it, Castiel huffs and waves them toward the pallet Dean had set up in the sitting area. They shove the man down and leave. Normally, he would challenge his brother and wear him down with arguments until he got what he wanted. That is not a wise course of action today. Alex would most likely do the exact opposite of what Castiel asked. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting.

The silence assaults Dean’s ears. The atmosphere in the room is pressurized, ready to burst. Castiel is not happy to see him, but he expected as much. The prince had stuck his neck out to help Dean, and he repaid that debt by trying to escape. The intensity of his anger is quite surprising, though. Cas has always been relaxed and in command. Dean knows he must be missing something. Of course, he hasn’t understood more than a few words spoken to him since he was caught last night, so he’ll have to ask Cas directly. Maybe once he has time to calm down. 

His pride is still stinging from his quick capture and he isn’t anxious to run headlong into more humiliation. He had a great escape plan and he executed it close to flawlessly. He simply underestimated an enemy he didn’t realize was still on the board. Alastair. 

Dean made it through the gardens and out of the gate without a problem, only to run into a small group of soldiers on horseback. When he turned to retreat through the gardens to find another route, the captain was waiting with smug victory. Apparently, he was still upset about Dean escaping his attentions at knifepoint and had been watching him. Eerie as it is, at least now Dean knows that Alastair has an obsession with seeing him punished. 

The spicy smell of exotic incense tickles his nose, welcoming and familiar. Even though he never expected to see these rooms again, he finds a smile touching his lips. It is the smell he associates with the prince, that permeates his clothing and his skin. Part of him wants to stay where he is, close his eyes, breathe deep, and sleep until morning. He owes Castiel an explanation and apology, though. He owes him that at the very least. Dean stands painfully and walks over to where Cas is staring out the windows, arms crossed over his chest.

“Cas-”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” the man replies, sharp as a blade. 

Dean blinks away the shock and tries again.

“I’m not kidding, Dean. I don’t want you here, but apparently I don’t have a choice.” Castiel turns to face Dean, and the soldier sees in vivid color what he had been missing. The left side of Castiel’s face is mottled bruises, his eye swollen and painful. 

“Jesus, Cas. What happened?” He instinctively moves closer, hand reaching for the side of the prince’s face until he sees the man jerk away from him.

“You. You happened.” 

Dean is at complete loss. Did Alexander do this? No one else would dare. Castiel is not a delicate man, not at all, but this is still a wretched sight. His beautiful skin should never bear marks of anger. Dean is affronted that someone would dare to put their hands on his prince.

“This is what my kindness earned me.” The quiet words are all that he utters, and the prince’s eyes are completely shuttered. They are flat, dull disks with no emotion shining through. Guilt washes over Dean. As surely as if his knuckles had split the skin, this is his fault.

 

*****

 

Vibrant green liquor splashes inelegantly in and out of the glass. Dean doesn’t know whether to be happy that Castiel has switched from drugging himself into oblivion to drowning himself in liquor. The results seem to be about the same, though maybe he is slightly more verbal under the alcohol’s influence. Dean allows a slight twitch of his lips when he hears the caustic commentary come from the prince after each sip of absinthe. 

When he passed out earlier, Dean dumped all the sugar into the wash basin. Now, the inebriated prince has to drink the wormwood, liquid as bitter as his heart, without anything to sweeten it. He wonders if Castiel will even notice the sticky sweetness when he tries to wash his face later.

It has been long days of this wearying stand-off. Dean has nothing to occupy his hours, and Castiel keeps himself incapable of rational thought. He has not spoken to the soldier, and only acknowledges him to glare if he gets in his way. Dean’s patience is stretched, taut and straining. Even so, he knows the man’s anger is righteous. He betrayed the trust of the prince, and he will do whatever penance he deems necessary. He refuses to grovel, though. It would be rather difficult to accomplish, even if he wanted to. As soon as Dean made the mistake of speaking, Castiel hurled a crystal glass towards his head. It exploded against the wall, just inches from his face. The prince has a wicked throwing arm. Now, he waits for Castiel to speak.

Dean tried to ask the guards for books after the first day of isolation, but none of them speak French or English. Castiel, the entitled prick, refuses to translate for him. That’s not entirely true. He did say something to the guards in Romanian which caused uproarious laughter. They didn’t bring books, though. 

His concern for Castiel surpasses any ill will he feels. Today in particular, the prince is spiraling down. He practically begged the guards to bring Luke to see his brother. When the door opens to the charismatic older man, Dean sighs in relief. Castiel regards his brother with bleary eyes.

“Did you get lost, brother?”

“No, but it took an act of god to get permission to see you.” 

Luke surveys the sitting area where the tables are covered in drug paraphernalia and liquor bottles in various states of use. With a hint of disdain, he remarks, “Looks like a fun party.”

“I don’t need your judgment. I’m already getting a vicious dose from my roommate.”

“You think he might have a point?”

Castiel’s forbidding stare is the only response. “Ok, fine,” he soothes. “I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

Dean brings Luke’s favored drink to him and gives him a pointed look. The older prince watches the room for a moment before asking, “So you two haven’t kissed and made up yet?”

Castiel huffs in scorn and curses at the taste of his drink. “The man betrayed me, and I can’t get away from him. He sits there all day, stoic and superior.” The snarl in his voice catches Dean’s attention and their eyes finally meet. It lights the fire of his anger again. “I don’t know why I thought he was so special. He’s just like Michael and the rest of the morality brigade, always doing what’s expected.”

“You don’t understand why he might have wanted his freedom, mic unul?”

“Stop calling me that!” Castiel snaps. “I’m not a child.”

“Sorry, does asshole suit you better?” Castiel simply rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of absinthe, a shiver crawling up his spine at the taste.

Luke diverts the conversation to something positive. “Speaking of Michael, he and Alexander are leaving for Bucharest in the morning. They’ll be gone for a few days.”

“They’re actually leaving me in your care?” Castiel asks excitedly.

“Just for a few days,” Luke hedges, “for now. We’ll see what I can do once he’s had a chance to cool down.”

Castiel throws his arms awkwardly around his brother, his senses dull and uncoordinated. “Can I please, please, please have some company, my dear warden?”

“Am I not suitable company?”

Castiel leers at him, “Unless you’re willing to let me fuck you…no.”

His brother fake gags and pushes him off his lap amidst his laughter. “Ugh, Castiel. I did not need that image in my head.”

 

*****

 

Luke, instead of helping his brother sober up, hands him the reins and lets him run amok. His chambers are filled with royals and servants alike, in various stages of dress and sobriety. As the hours pass, the scene is turning exponentially more vulgar. 

The worst part, for Dean, is that he finally found out the purpose for the metal rings in the wall next to Castiel’s bed. Currently, his wrists and ankles are chained to the rings in the shape of an X. There is just enough play in the chains to let his arms rest, but no more. 

Dean regrets every nice thought he’s ever had about Castiel. The guards were more than happy to accommodate Castiel’s bizarre request to ‘restrict his movements’ during the festivities because he is ‘too dangerous’ to leave unattended. Now, at random, people wander back to either make use of the bed or ogle Dean while he is held fast. 

Sex is all around him, seeping into every pore of his body. He’s getting a contact high. Arousal on a low burn for so long that he feels he will ignite with hardly a spark. Thankfully, Castiel has stayed on the far side of the room, but his eyes have been on Dean, heavy and ravenous. These lust-filled looks are the only sign he’s had that Castiel might be warming up to him. While that is a welcome change, he still can’t and won’t give the prince what he wants. If he’s honest, what they both want. If Cas comes near him tonight, if he tempts Dean to join him, he’s not sure how he will resist. But he must.

 

*****

 

The challenge comes sooner than he anticipates. Castiel stands in front of where he is chained to the wall, eyeing him like he wants to eat him alive. Dean spits at him, “This isn’t going to happen, Castiel.”

“What isn’t going to happen?”

His eyes contain banked fire. Most of it is bluster, but that is the only weapon afforded him right now. “Sex. You can’t force me, even if I’m in chains. I’ll fight it.”

Castiel sneers at him, “Why would I ever force you when I have so many willing mouths to indulge me?”

“I see the way you look at me.” 

He scrutinizes the soldier’s response. Dean puffs out his chest in a clear warning, clenches his jaw and tips his head up. 

“You don’t believe me.” Dean needs to be disabused of the notion that Castiel has feelings for him. Even if he truly does, despite his anger, the soldier needs to be toppled from his high horse. He wants to seduce this man, drag him down into the filth and dirty him up. Yes, that would be absolutely lovely.

The prince calls to a beautiful, almost naked, woman. Immediately, she sashays over to him, draping herself over his body. She eyes the man in chains, interest clear in the lustful scan of his body. Without breaking his gaze with Dean, Castiel pushes down on her shoulder until she picks up the idea.

“What, exactly, do you think makes you so irresistible? Do you think it’s because your body is so strong and well-muscled?” Castiel drags light fingertips down his forearm.

Dean’s hearing has been heightened by the adrenaline, the closeness of his greatest temptation. The stone walls assist in bringing every shift of fabric to his ears.

“You are a young, virile man, and you are beautiful to behold,” he agrees, “but you are so constipated by manliness and duty that you’ll never let yourself be truly uninhibited. You will always be more concerned by what you are told is right than what you feel is right, and that doesn’t appeal to me at all.” 

He’s trying to listen to every word Castiel is saying, but between translating and the obvious distraction at the prince’s feet, he’s losing the battle. Dean can hear every slide of skin on skin now, every wet sucking sound as the woman pleasures Castiel in front of him. Against his will, his brain fills in what he won’t drop his eyes to witness. Hammering heart and short breaths keep him on edge. There is no place for these pangs of jealousy. He braces for the sexual onslaught. He can’t break. 

“Honestly, Dean, have you ever been with a man? Have you ever felt the weight of a cock on your tongue?”

At the vehement shake of his head, Castiel slides his hand to Dean’s cheek and lets his thumb drag across Dean’s plush lips, which part for him easily, “So you think I would give up these experienced, uninhibited partners to have your virgin mouth? To have you timidly attempt to please me?” Even through the denial and anger, his mind begs, ‘Oh god, yes, please.’

He grabs Dean’s face roughly, squeezing his jaw open. He slides his index finger deep along his tongue, making Dean choke. Castiel makes an annoyed sound and criticizes, “With that gag reflex, you couldn’t take half my length.” 

Dean blushes in embarrassment at his clinical and humiliating rejection. 

The prince’s body is being rocked gently now by the rhythm of the eager mouth on him. Castiel lets his head drop back in pleasure, lips parted. When he focuses on Dean again, his smile goes wicked as he leans in closer.

“Would you like her next?”

As if that permission unlocks him, Dean looks down. He follows the obscene glistening mouth taking the man into her willing body. As she descends on him, Dean appreciates that she can’t take all of the prince either; her hand accommodating the rest. When she pulls back to the head, he sees up close how fat and full he is. This lithe man, who appears to be slight despite his height, has a prodigious cock.

Dean shakes off the thoughts because that’s not what he should want. He should be focused on her. He should want her mouth, which isn’t remotely interesting at the moment. Dean can feel the saliva building in his mouth, and he has to swallow hard against the desire to feel the velvety skin brush past his lips. He wonders at the taste. Would he be salty? Would he taste like the ever-present spice in the air? As he stares, mesmerized, he knows that Castiel’s estimation was generous. He couldn’t fit even a third of that gorgeous dick in his mouth without gagging. But he would try. God, would he try. Castiel is beautiful and strong, and Dean desperately wants to lick him everywhere.

He looks back up and his gaze is caught by calculating and victorious deep blue. “Or would you like me instead?”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean exhales, not quite prepared for the visual that question induces. He pants out jagged breaths, as Cas leans in closer to his ear.

“Hmm? Would you like to see me get on my knees for you, Dean?”

Dean releases a heady moan, thready and high like a whine. 

Castiel has never been close enough to his soldier to feel the heat that radiates from his body. It is a glorious inferno, and Castiel wants to revel in it. His scent, so clean and masculine, is like the forest after a hard rain. Like Icarus, he can’t help but fly too close, his senses ensnared by the man he doesn’t want to crave. He gives in to his fantasies, hoping to drag Dean along with him.

“Would you like me to swallow you down to the root? Suck you deep until you cum down my throat?”

Dean shakes his head, his lust-blown pupils argue, but he tries to hold to his conviction. Castiel rubs a single finger down the length of Dean’s throat and quirks a thin smile. He knows how to overcome this resistance.

“You’re completely bound, Dean. What happens here is out of your control. You can let yourself have this. No one will blame you.”

Castiel can’t help it. His lips brush just under Dean’s ear, back and forth lightly to feel the texture and raise more of that delectable scent.

Dean sees the offer like an open door. He can have this. Once. It is a gift; the freedom to experience Castiel’s mouth on him. He could give in. Just tonight. Even as he is rationalizing it, he knows that he can’t. Once would never be enough. If he allows it now, he will be lost. 

Trembling, Dean pleads, “No, Castiel. Please. I beg you. Don’t do this.”

Castiel is quiet, but he lets his hand trail to Dean’s waistband; one fingertip sliding underneath, back and forth, teasing his silky skin. 

Dean slams his head back, trying to keep his wits about him. Castiel is going to break him. The man has one finger touching him and he’s about to fly apart. He can’t catch his breath; he wants. Fuck, he is aching to be touched. Anywhere, as long as it is this man's hands touching him.

One last valiant attempt. He has to try. “I can’t, Cas. Please. Don’t do this to me,” he begs even as his hips lean forward into the touch. 

Castiel steps back from his seductive punishment. “No?” 

Even now, Dean will deny him. His eyes go arctic cold. “I just figured since you already fucked me, you might want to finish the job.”

Harsh realization hits Dean like icy water. Castiel isn’t done punishing him, and he doesn’t know if he will survive it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "E-Bow the Letter" by R.E.M
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	8. Fragmentation is the Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the party, Cas deals with a heavy dose of reality. His plans for seduction abruptly change, and Dean is given a modicum of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first week back at work was harrowing. I've been thoroughly enjoying my 'happy place' today. I hope you enjoy this short chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> The literary reference Cas makes is to Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem, "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner". It would have been a contemporary piece for Castiel and Dean, and therefore understandable that they would both know it. 
> 
> Another note that I wanted to make is that switching between Castiel and Cas is not arbitrary to me. When he is being a pompous jerk, he is Castiel. When he is being sweet, he is Cas.
> 
> That is all. 
> 
>  
> 
> I would love to hear from each and every one of you. Feedback is wonderful, and your comments make my day.
> 
> Romanian translations are all pet names:
> 
> draga meu = my dear  
> puțin cafeniu = little fawn  
> albatrosul meu = my albatross

Tinkling bells touch the edges of his consciousness. The delicate sound shifts as he surfaces from sleep. It becomes heavier, weightier with its significance. It is the sound of Dean’s discomfort, his forfeited freedom. The sound that binds Castiel as certainly as it does its wearer. Not for the first time, Coleridge’s famous lines trickle through his head, “Water, water everywhere and all the boards did shrink. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.” Dean has become his personal albatross.

The prince often worries that his experience with Dean is going to sour his predilection for bondage. He loves the twitching of muscles, the trembling restraint; knowing he controls even the basest desires of his partner. Art and skill combining to render another body incapable of working against his will. More than anything, he craves the shaking desperation he can bring them to, when they can do nothing but beg to touch him. Now, though, jangling chains drag him out of the lovely reminiscence.

Castiel opens his eyes, braced to feel the ever-present guilt settle into place around his neck. He doesn’t immediately see Dean, looking toward where he heard the noise. The expanse of his bed is empty. A frown knits his brow, and he peers over the far edge. A pained sound escapes his lips at the sight. He jumps up, yelling for the guards. Sliding to his knees, he tries to wake the soldier. 

Dean is still chained to the rings in the wall, but in his weariness, had slumped to the floor. Unfortunately, the chains on his wrists are too short for him to be able to lie down. His arms are dangling above shoulder level, head leaning towards the wall for rough support. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Castiel fusses under his breath. He moves in behind the ensnared man, using his body to take his weight and give some slack to the chains.

In his panic, he is clawing at the steel manacles to free Dean’s swollen wrists. They are a putrid purple where he obviously pulled against the bonds, trying to stretch their reach. Castiel feels sick. Bile jumps into his throat, tingling in the back of his jaw. How could he have left Dean there, bound while he slept peacefully in his bed? What kind of unthinking monster has he become? As he wracks his brain for the answers, Dean still isn’t stirring. He remembers the haze of smoking with Adrian and his cousin to settle his nerves after his altercation with Dean. Nothing after that. He well and truly blacked out. Nausea overcomes him again. What else has he forgotten?

As soon as the guards reach him, he stands up out of the way, pacing by the bed. He barks orders at another guard to retrieve their physician. He fists his hair, struggling to maintain calm in front of these men. He can’t show weakness; there’s been enough of that from him. As soon as the manacles are off, he waves the men towards the bed. If they are surprised, they school their faces well. They lay the soldier down too roughly, but he grits his teeth and bears it, subduing his instinctive response. Dismissed, the guards exit with suitable quiet. 

Castiel can’t take his eyes off Dean, an inappropriate warmth rising in his chest at seeing the man spilled across his sheets. The possessive heat catches him off guard. Nothing about his reactions to this man should surprise him anymore, but they do. 

The sight of his bruises dampens the burn immediately. He frets with the man’s limbs, getting him comfortable and tucked in. Once settled, his thoughts return to his own carelessness. He admits that he wanted to humiliate Dean, make him feel some of the degradation that’s been given to him on the soldier’s behalf. He would never have purposefully hurt him. Never. His thoughtlessness, whether intended or not, is unconscionable. 

When Dean cracks his eyes open, he is in considerably less pain than he expected. In fact, he is in a plush nest of silk, furs, and down, redolent with earthy spices. His heart gallops at the conclusion he comes to. He is waking in Castiel’s bed, which is not where he fell asleep. No, he fought the losing battle with consciousness while the prince and his dickish friends smoked themselves into an opium coma. 

“Speak of the devil,” Dean croaks in English as he turns to the side and sees Castiel sitting next to him, knees tucked up to his chin. He startles but seems thrilled to have Dean awake. 

“Thank god,” the prince sighs. “I was so worried.”

Dean scowls at him. “Yes, I was feeling your concern for my well-being last night. You’re such a gracious host.” He continues speaking in his native tongue because he honestly can’t be bothered to try to communicate. He wants to lash out and punish. He wants to bite with sarcasm.

Castiel shuts his eyes and bows his head in shame. He deserves Dean’s anger. It stings to sit and take what the man decides to give him, but he will. When he doesn’t speak, Dean pushes harder.

“You left me chained up while you got high with your friends, you narcissistic prick! Who does that?”

Castiel speaks quietly, eyes still downcast. It is a foreign look on the prince, one that makes Dean bristle with unease. “I am sorry. I did not mean to let you get hurt.”

It’s not exactly a response to Dean’s rant, but then, he didn’t expect it to be since he is petulantly refusing to speak French. It assures him that the prince at least grasps that what he did was wrong. 

“I let my vices get out of hand. It will not happen again.”

Dean laughs out loud at the promise. He can’t think of a single day at Castle Peles where Castiel wasn’t either drunk, high, or both. 

At his dismissive humor, Castiel looks more like himself. He straightens up, face imperious and expectant. His eyes harden and Dean feels his displeasure like a rough hand to his throat. He wields authority like it’s as natural as breathing. This is the man he has come to expect, who sets him aflame with a word and a touch. His stare penetrates, commands, and Dean feels caught in it.

“Do not mistake my repentance for weakness, puțin cafeniu.”

Dean swallows hard but maintains eye contact. Castiel is plotting. He can see the gears turning. Even though the prince has spent the better part of the past month intoxicated, Dean has seen glimpses of this sharp mind. His ability to calculate and manipulate is uncanny. The soldier can’t help but squirm internally while under his scrutiny. He refuses to let it show. He’s given enough to the prince. 

Castiel comes to a decision with a quirky head tilt and a wicked smile. 

“Come, Dean. Let’s eat.”

*****

Marius had taught Dean what was expected of him when the prince takes meals in his chambers. He is to lay out the food, disappear during the meal, and then return to clean the mess away. This afternoon seems to be shaping up like any other day. It’s fine. He didn’t think Castiel would actually coddle him because he is bruised. His wrists were bandaged while he slept, and although sore, he’s had worse injuries. In fact, he’s had infinitely worse just in his time at the castle. 

Once Meg, the kitchen servant, settles the tray on the teak table, Dean starts to unload the dishes. Cas lets out a disapproving tut and waves him away to the small couch. When he sets the tray down on the low table next to Dean, he reaches for the silver lids.

“I am capable of lifting a cloche, Cas,” he teases. 

“I’m well aware of that. I’ve seen you do it many times. Today, I’m doing it for you.”

He lifts the lids with a flourish. This is not a typical meal. Instead of the traditional soup course and some type of meat dish, there are a dozen plates, each containing a different delicate finger food and garnished with great detail. Dean is still feeling suspicious of Cas’s scheming, so he waits warily. 

“What’s all this?”

“Nothing much,” he says coyly. “I realized that you haven’t tried many of our country’s delicacies, so I wanted to give you a culinary tour.” 

Dean nods his assent, skeptical but willing to give the prince the benefit of the doubt. “What brought this on?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

“Typically, yes.” Dean leans over to grab a dish and Cas stops him. He meets the prince’s gaze, questioning. His eyes are unexpectedly guileless. 

"It is my fault that you are injured, so it would be my honor to assist you."

Dean raises a brow. "Assist me?"

"Yes, Dean. I want to feed you."

"Like an infant?"

Cas does not roll his eyes, but it is a near thing. "No, Dean. It is nothing degrading, I assure you."

At the continued skeptical look, Cas explains, "It is important to me. Let me. Please?” 

When Dean withdraws and sits back, he smiles. Picking up a small morsel, he slides closer. Wrapping his arm around the back of the seat and leaning over into his personal space, Cas nudges the small bite to Dean’s mouth. He doesn’t open immediately. This is a bizarre thing for Cas to ask, but he’s been raised to have manners, and so he relents. Salty, spicy, and crunchy bacon explodes on his tongue. He hums his approval, which ignites the spectacular smile on Cas’s face. 

‘Wow. He should do that more often’, Dean thinks. That delighted look could launch more than a thousand ships. 

“This is jumari. Good, isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm. Delicious.”

“More?”

“Please.”

Cas feeds him a couple more pieces slowly, letting him savor the crunchy pork. Next, he raises a goblet to his lips. Awkward as it is, Dean lets him tip the cup back for him. As he brings it back down, a rivulet escapes from the corner of his mouth. With his thumb, Cas tenderly wipes it away. Dean watches as he brings the thumb to his own lips and sucks the wine away. Christ, this is starting to feel too intimate, and they are just starting the meal. Dean clears his throat and creates a distraction.

“What’s next?”

Cas cuts a bite from of flaky filled pastry and picks it up with his fingers. It is held in front of Dean’s mouth until he opens for it. “This is plăcintă cu brânză. It is a cheese pastry.”

The cheese is still warm, creamy and rich. Such a simple dish, but so satisfying. He voices his approval, hoping to receive another of those lovely smiles. He is not disappointed. Each bite is cut carefully and fed to him with Cas’s complete concentration. Dean is falling under his spell. Being on the receiving end of that intense focus is heady. He wants to curl his lips around the man’s fingers as they deliver the next selection. He fights with himself not to drag his tongue along them.

Cas brings a neatly wrapped cabbage roll up to his lips next. “What is this called?”

“Sarmale” 

Dean isn’t sure when their voices dropped, but they are almost whispering now. Neither of them willing to break the tenuous peace they have found with each other. Cas keeps alternating food and wine until Dean feels sated. The prince has taken little nibbles for himself but is more focused on filling the soldier than himself. 

“Now for the best part,” Cas bites his lip in concentration as he brings the next item up for Dean to take. It is sloppy, messy, and dripping honey down to his wrist. As Dean takes it, his teeth graze Cas’s thumb. They both let out a little content sound. Dean’s eyes drift lower in pleasure. 

“More,” he demands.

The layered pastry is outrageously good. Nutty and crispy and laden with thick honey. It is heavenly. When Cas brings another bite to him, he leans forward impatiently to take it. The prince takes his time bringing his fingers out of Dean’s mouth, chastising him, “Greedy.”

Dean smiles and nods. “More.”

Cas tilts his head, that same quirky gesture from earlier. “Ask nicely.”

“Please.”

“Nicer than that.” Cas is teasing him, flirtation obvious, but Dean can handle this. He doesn’t know why, but this feels…safe, comfortable. Friendly, even. 

He pushes warm arousal into his words. “Please, Cas. Give me what I want.”

“And what is that, draga meu?” Cas leans in farther, eyes flicking between eyes and mouth. 

“Another bite, please.”

Cas sighs his disappointment that Dean took the easy path, but he brings another sticky piece to his lips anyway. As Dean bites, the liquid spills over, coating his lips in the sugary syrup. Desire burns in his chest at the sight. He is catching himself in his own web. He has wanted to feel those lips beneath his for weeks. Those perfect bowed lips that inspire and deserve sonnets of devotion to be written to them. Those soft lips are covered in slick sugar and Cas has to stifle a whimper.

When Dean reaches up to wipe his mouth, Cas instinctively stops the movement, but never takes his eyes from Dean’s. He doesn’t want to push too hard. He has realized that Dean’s seduction must be meticulous and slow if it is to be successful. Overt sexuality did nothing but push him into panic and fear. Cas is trying a new approach. If inviting him into his sexual exploits won’t work, he will woo Dean. He will ply him with gifts, treat him with deference and sweetness. He will win him over. 

The tension mounts as Cas searches his face for negative emotion. He sees nothing but a pinking in his cheeks, which couldn’t possibly be more endearing. This broad, muscled man blushes so beautifully that Cas aches to find what else brings that color to his skin. 

Dean smirks with completely false bravado. “Are you going to get that for me, then?”

Without hesitation, Cas gently tangles his fingers into the soft hair on the nape of Dean’s neck while he tugs the man to him. He watches for any sign of resistance. Seeing none, he slides his tongue, slow and deliberate, against his prize. They feel as spectacular as he suspected. Full, firm, with just enough give. Screw sonnets. Symphonies should be devoted to Dean’s mouth. 

Dean remains passive as he lets Cas lick the honey away, even as lust surges into him. There is only so much stimulation he can handle, and just cataloging each sensation is more than he is capable of at the moment. He will stop Cas soon, knows that he must. But for now, he revels in the feeling. The prince’s mouth is hot, and he uses his tongue like a brush on canvas; varying firmness and breadth. It is dizzying. 

When Cas begins to pull back instead of pushing forward as he expects, Dean chases him for a taste. He can’t lose this opportunity now that it is here and almost gone. He licks against Cas’s broad lips and presses a chaste kiss to them before finally separating. He looks into near-black eyes and shivers. 

Cas is at the tipping point. He hadn’t expected Dean’s participation. That was a very welcome surprise. Now, instead of limiting himself to one brief taste, he is struggling against pulling the man into his lap and ravishing his mouth. ‘Behave,’ he chastised himself. ‘If you get greedy, you will spook him.’

Cas gives a sweet smile and squeezes his arm fondly. “Why don’t you take one of the guards down to the library to find something good to read? I’ll take care of this.”

Dean shakes off the heavy moment and asks, “Will they do that? I’m not cuffed.”

Cas looks almost sheepish and runs his hands up and down his face before standing. “I may have threatened to dismember anyone who tried to restrain you. I was…upset earlier.” 

He busies himself with stacking dishes onto the tray. When Dean doesn’t speak, Cas looks back at him. His eyes are comically wide with amazement. “I wish I had seen that.

Cas tries to hide his smile. “Don’t be a brat, albatrosul meu. I managed to grant you at least a week without those horrid chains, so a thank you would not go amiss.”

Dean chuckles, "Thanks, Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Making the Nature Scene" by Sonic Youth
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	9. Damn the Beautiful Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas keeps himself in check...or at least tries, so that counts. Dean doesn't. They set aside their ill feelings and learn quite a bit about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, my dear readers. I'm happy to say that I've been able to write more than I thought I would this week, so this chapter is earlier than I had planned. Go me!
> 
> It is also more than double the length of the previous ones. I think that's a good thing?  
> The boys are getting closer, but conflict drives narrative, so... 
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> Cas's horse is named Warrior.
> 
> The Latin insult that Cas tells translates to: You sleep with well-endowed boys, and the thing that stands up for them does not stand up for you. 
> 
> Terms of endearment:  
> Draga meu: my dear, darling, sweetheart  
> băiat dulce: sweet boy
> 
>  
> 
> Comments / feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. I'd be grateful to know what you think.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean’s arms pump, down and back quickly, for at least the seventieth time. Honestly, he lost count some time ago. Still, he strains. Sweat falls to the floor from his temples, drips from the tip of his nose, and slides along his neck. And again. Again. 

He's been at it for over an hour in the futile attempt to wrestle focus and control away from his traitorous mind. Sit-ups, pushups, squats, and lunges. If he could get outside for a run, he might actually hit a level of exhaustion that would be effective. After his escape attempt, that isn’t likely. Stuck in this room for the foreseeable future, he has devised an ingenious way to do pull-ups by hanging from either side of the archway leading to Cas’s actual bedroom. That is his next stop, but he doesn’t want to loiter in that area while the prince is still in the bed. That they shared.

Apparently, they are both going to sleep in that bed from now on. The night before, without warning or conversation, Castiel had brought servants in to dismantle Dean’s palette and take away the remains. He announced that it was too cold for Dean to continue sleeping away from the fire and that he had plenty of room in his bed. It was a royal edict if he had ever heard one, but that didn’t prevent Dean from trying to overrule it. The only response to his protestations was a lift of Castiel’s imperious brow. 

Dean should have known that Cas had ulterior motives with all the sweetness and light from the day before. It was too great of a divergence from his typical selfish behavior. Dean was an imbecile to give the man room to wiggle beneath his shields. Damn the beautiful distraction. 

Laying all night in a cocoon of the prince’s personal scent had been a unique torture. He spent agonizing hours listening to the shift and rustle of silk sliding over the man’s body, taking in the breathy sighs as he settled into sleep. He was now all too aware that Cas didn’t sleep soundly when he wasn’t under the influence of opium or excessive drink. Whenever Dean had moved, Cas woke abruptly. After too many repetitions, Dean took pity on him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Sleep, Cas. I’m on watch.” If the prince felt guarded, he might let himself rest.

Cas watched with a thoughtful look before nodding and turning over to burrow into his pillow. After long moments, hearing nothing but the fire crackle, Dean heard a murmured “Thank you.”

Dean woke this morning to a heavy ache; his cock straining for attention and relief. Just close proximity to his cursed temptation had him halfway to urgent need. In their sleep, they had both shifted subtly towards each other, so that Cas was within his reach. Dean had watched him, memorizing the details he never let himself notice. Sunlight hitting his ebony hair, casting rich mahogany highlights. His broad lips, parted on a breath, soft in the palest pink. 

“Christ, I sound like a fucking poet,” he had grumbled as he leapt out of the bed and down the steps to put a respectable distance between them. Up until now, he has been able to keep his physical needs in check without concern for privacy. His pallet was on the far side of the large chambers, Castiel hardly woke before noon, and he knew his body well enough to make it quick, if perfunctory. Years of military service had honed that skill as well as his fighting ability. 

Now, though. Shit. Just thinking back to laying in that den of sex and sin is enough to have his cock jerk in interest. Dean looks down and growls in aggravation. Whether or not Castiel is out of bed, he is going to do pull-ups until his arms are too exhausted to jerk off. 

 

*****

 

Cas hears heavy labored breathing nearby and opens his eyes to investigate. The scene is not one he anticipated, but it is breathtaking. Dean is hanging from the archway near the foot of the bed, doing pull-ups in loose pants and nothing else. In silence, the prince watches. 

Dean’s arms are spectacular. He knew this already because he has seen the man close to naked often enough. He hasn’t ever seen those bulky muscles toil and clench like this, though. When he pulls to the top of the arch, he lifts his legs into a seated position, twists his hips to both sides, and lets them down. Every time he raises, he repeats the difficult stretch. 

Cas lets his mind wander into lascivious territory. What would it feel like to have Dean use those arms to hold him down and take his pleasure? Hmmm...or, hold him up? A wicked grin slides into place. Yes. That would be something exquisite to experience. He bites his bottom lip as the fantasy unfolds. Dean grabs him roughly and slams him up into the wall. Cas wraps his legs tightly around that trim waist and digs his fingers into thick shoulders while Dean fills him. He can almost feel the brutal force of each thrust that those powerful hips could give him. He would probably shake apart from the impact alone. 

His daydream is interrupted when Dean drops to the floor with easy agility. “Good morning,” he says curtly. 

Cas frowns. Dean is a sweaty mess, almost glowing with it in the light. He is also on edge. The prince thinks through what he knows of the man and reaches a conclusion. Either Dean is still angry about being forced into his bed, or he has cabin fever. 

“Good morning, Dean. Everything good?” he teases.

“Fine.” Clipped. Tense. 

Cas hums his dissent. 

Dean’s head snaps around, shoulders tight. There is no carefree light in his eyes. This is the fearsome warrior his enemies must see. Cas trusts the man, probably more than he should, but sometimes he is glad to have guards posted just outside. With his heart hammering, Cas gets out of bed and sidles over to Dean. He won’t be cowed, and facing the man’s temper makes him itch with anticipation. Slowly, he looks him up and down, appreciation caressing his lines. 

“Don’t lie to me, Dean. You’re wound so tight you look like you might burst.” 

Dean’s jaw squeezes tighter and he won’t make eye contact. Well, Cas can fix that. “I know what will relax you,” he purrs.

Dean’s nostrils flare and oh…now Cas has his full attention. He files that knowledge away for later. As much as he enjoys the innuendo, sex is not on the table this morning. His plan is to win Dean over, and he will not be led astray.

Cas smiles, “Let’s go for a ride.”

Dean’s eyes widen, mouth gapes in disbelief. He lets Dean’s misinterpretation linger for a moment, long enough to let images form in the man’s mind. When he looks like he might be salivating, Cas finally clarifies.

“Horses, Dean. Let’s go ride horses.”

Deep pink rushes to mingle with his dappled freckles. Cas fights the urge to kiss each one.

Dean clears his throat and chuckles, “Of course. Horses.” He glances out the window at the landscape. “It’s a little cold, don’t you think?”

“Nonsense,” Cas denies. “The horses are sturdy. They thrive in the snow.” As he speaks, he wanders over to the wardrobe for his outerwear, hoping to cobble together an entire outfit so that he won’t have to alert anyone to his plans.

“I meant for me.”

Cas stops digging through the wardrobe to see the little smile crinkling Dean’s eyes as he gestures to himself. Cas twists his mouth in contemplation and lifts a finger to signal for the man to be patient. He continues his search, pulling out heavy wool pants and shoving them at him. 

“Go clean that sweat off and put those on. I will find the rest.”

“Uh, sure.” Dean wanders away to do his bidding. Cas can’t be sure which pleases him more; dressing Dean in his clothing or having him obedient. 

 

*****

 

Cas adjusts the fur collar around Dean’s neck. He is in a knee-length red frock coat trimmed in gold embroidery and rich brown fur. When he takes a step back, his breath hitches and his heart aches. Dean is ethereal on any day. In this finery, with the cold air kissing his cheeks, he is resplendent. As Dean skillfully mounts his horse, Cas looks on in awe. His countenance is regal, strength and poise in every line. If this man was his king, he would follow him anywhere, pledge his fealty without question. And then he smiles. 

“Come on, Cas. Daylight is wasting.”

A broad grin spreads as he leaps up on his horse, Războinic, and digs his heels in before he is fully seated. The Carpathian starts to move as soon as Cas’s weight lands. The plains ahead of them are the only flat land for miles, so they will gallop at full speed until they get close to the forest. He has a large lead before he hears Dean’s indignance and the pounding of hoof beats following him. 

He is impressed that Dean is able to catch up to him; not many can. When he slows to a canter, Dean matches the gait. Cas takes in the delight on the soldier’s face. Gorgeous. He never wants that unadulterated joy on his face to fade. 

“Good idea?” Cas laughs.

Excitement sparks along Dean’s skin. “Excellent idea. I can’t remember the last time I felt this alive.”

Dean turns to look back at the castle. Such a stunning prison. “How did you manage to break me out?”

Cas squints at him. “You realize that I am a prince, yes? That is my home? Those people work for me?”

“Okay, I must be getting better at French, because I did not miss a bit of that sarcasm.”

Cas ignores him for a moment, but then adds, “Alex and Michael being in Bucharest might have also been a factor.”

Dean chuckles at the admission. Compared to his brothers, Cas doesn’t seem to take himself or his position seriously, at least in matters of state. He is comfortable deferring to the crown prince in most matters. That’s what makes it so surprising that he has repeatedly challenged his brother on Dean’s behalf. That speaks volumes to him about the young prince’s motivations. 

Cas nods toward the wooded path and takes the lead. “This trail winds up into the foothills. Even with the snow, it will be safe to make it to the lowest peak. The view is worth the slow ride.”

Dean nods and settles into the pace set by Cas’s horse. It is warmer among the trees, without the wind whistling through the flat land. Despite the heavy snow, he is comfortable. He is pleasantly surprised that Cas doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. They listen to the abundant birdsong, the creaking of snow-laden limbs. The air stings when he draws in a deep lungful, but it is a crisp, clean burn. Wallachia is a rugged, natural wonder. If only he were here under better circumstances. 

When they arrive at the peak of the foothills, Cas slides from the saddle and pulls a blanket and saddlebag over to a rocky outcrop sheltered by a tree. Hardly any snow has accumulated here, so he dusts off the little bit and lays the blanket down. He is about to call Dean over, when he sees the man caught up in the stunning vista. His lips are parted with a faint smile as he soaks up the panoramic view of Cas’s kingdom. He leaves him to his wonder and sets out some food that he had Meg pack for him. It is a simple winter picnic of finger food: bread, cheeses, dried meats and fruits, nuts, and of course, tuiça. 

Eventually, Dean wanders over and sits near him. “I can’t believe a place like this exists. I’ve been all over the world, and yet I’m amazed by the beauty here.”

Cas is pleased by his appreciation for his country. Principality. Whatever. 

He hands Dean the bottle of tuiça with a warning. “Be careful. It is very strong. Don’t drink too much because I can’t carry you back.”

“I can handle my liquor, Cas,” he argues.

He holds hands up in apology. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve hardly seen you take a sip besides what I’ve fed to you myself.”

The memory flushes his cheeks. Dean is in disbelief about how much he enjoyed being hand fed once he got over the embarrassment. 

“I try to abstain when I’m not…” Dean trails off, not wanting to offend the prince.

“When you’re not?”

He tries for diplomatic. “When I’m not accustomed to a place yet.”

Cas scoffs. “When you don’t trust the people, you mean?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Sure. That’s accurate.”

Cas considers him for a moment. “Dean, I understand the situation here. Please don’t feel like you need to appease me. I would like for you to feel comfortable enough to be yourself.”

When Dean stumbles, trying to find the right words, Cas adds, “Eventually. I know you don’t trust me right now. I don’t blame you. We’ve gotten off to the worst start imaginable.” 

Cas meets his eyes sweetly and pats his hand. “I hope that changes with time.”

Dean takes stock of the man in front of him. This feels like an olive branch extending in genuine friendship. He doesn’t quite believe it. Not fully. But he’s willing to give Cas the benefit of the doubt. He’ll even extend his own.

“Your French is too good to be learned by a tutor. Have you been to France?”

Cas nods as he pops a piece of an apricot into his mouth. “I spent a year studying in Paris. It was quite the educational experience.”

There is too much innuendo there to not have a good story. Dean lifts his brow, asking for him to tell it. When Cas continues to bring bites to his own mouth, without offering any to Dean, he feels a disappointed sting. ‘What the hell, Winchester,’ he snaps at himself. ‘You’re a grown man. You don’t need another man to hand feed you. You certainly shouldn’t miss it.’ He does, though. An undercurrent of yearning makes him want to open his mouth and wait. 

“I was young when I arrived in Paris, just barely sixteen. As you can imagine, I was naïve and impressionable. There was a duke at court who was incredibly charismatic and adventurous. It turns out that he was looking for a protégé, and I fit the bill.”

Dean feels a twitch of annoyance at Cas’s description. It sounds like a lecherous older man found a young boy to prey on. Even with his features schooled, Cas sees it.

“It wasn’t like that. Balthazar was a gentleman until we realized that we had mutual interests. I had been stifled at court by three overbearing brothers, and I yearned to rebel. I’m sure you’re surprised,” he teases. 

Dean gives a fond smile. He can imagine the little hellcat Cas would have been at the age of sixteen. 

“He probably saved my life more than once. I had become so accustomed to life in my kingdom, where everyone knew me and the penalty if I should come to harm. My safety was not always at the forefront of my concerns.”

Cas seemed to disappear into his memories, and Dean felt he needed to buoy their conversation. “I spent several months in Normandy a couple years ago. My experience was not at all similar to yours.”

“No? What was it like?”

“The land is beautiful, but we were there for training. There were too many of us to house, so we created an encampment. It was fine for months, but then winter set in. I’ve never been so cold. Most of our training exercises were ship to land, so we were either in the ocean or near it. We would return to camp after spending the day in wet conditions only to spend the night in an even colder environment. There were days that I wished my heart would just stop so that the shivering would finally stop.”

When no response comes from his companion, he looks up to see horrified sympathy in Cas’s eyes. “Why would they let their soldiers live in such miserable conditions?”

“That’s the way of military life, Cas. It isn’t an easy path.”

“Then why did you choose it?”

Cas is cutting a little too close to Dean’s seams, and he just can’t allow holes. Not in his defenses. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. He uses laughter to throw him off course. “What makes you think I had a choice?”

In his continued scrutiny, Cas deduces, “You’ve told me that you have a younger brother, but never mentioned an older one. I can only assume that means you are the eldest. Eldest sons hardly ever join the military.”

“You’re thinking like a noble, which I’m not. Choice isn’t a choice for most.”

“Aren’t you, though?”

Dean’s heart races. Does Cas know or is he speculating? “What gives you that impression?”

“You have an education that far surpasses what most nobles receive, let alone commoners.”

“I like to read.” Dean counters. 

“You like to read. That’s your argument?” The impudence of the man drives Dean to distraction.

“Yes, Cas. I like to read. I like to read histories, literature, and I even taught myself chess.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest. “Where do you get all of these books?”

Dean goes quiet and narrows his eyes. “At the lending library.”

“In England?”

“Yes, there is one in London.”

Cas mirrors his expression. “And you are from?”

“North Yorkshire.” Dean isn’t sure if Cas knows England well enough to know that London is over 200 miles away from his home, so he adds, “My family also has a small library of books.”

Cas allows a predatory smile to slide up and recites a nasty little bit of Latin. “Dormīs cum puerīs mūtūniātīs, et non stat tibi, quod stat illīs.”  
Dean remembers the taunt well. It was one that made Sam particularly angry. Implying that he let young, well-hung boys fuck him because he was impotent was not something his younger sibling let go unchallenged. Apparently, it was a universal favorite if Cas also knew it. Still, it is obviously a test, so Dean tries not to react. “What is that?”

Cas sighs, sounding disinterested. “It’s one thing to pretend that you aren’t educated, Dean, but don’t act like I’m not. You recognized the Latin. I saw it in your eyes.”

Dean scowls at him darkly. Cas waits.

“Would you like me to stop asking you about this?”

“Yes.”

Cas reaches for his cup. “Done. That’s all you had to say.”

Understandably, Dean is wary. “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Yes. It’s that easy.” A coy smile settles on his lips. “Do you think you are the only one with secrets?”

Dean hates how intrigued he becomes by one simple question. His curiosity is practically panting with the need to know Cas’s secrets. All of his secrets. Now. 

Cas hums again, a sign that Dean has come to associate with the prince’s scheming. Dean feels the change in the air as their conversation becomes flirtation. 

Dean bites his lip as he lets his eyes bounce from Cas’s lips back up to meet his eyes. “What is it you think you just figured out about me, my prince?”

“You like the idea of finding out all of my secrets.” Damn. Cas has an uncanny ability to read people, and this time is no different. No use denying it then. 

“Yes, I find that I do. What will it take for you to give up one of your secrets, Cas?”

“Well, secrets are currency, draga meu...”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any coin, my prince.”

Cas is surprised by the flirting. His soldier is not a flirt. He is stoic, quiet, and humble. It is so out of character as to make him feel that this is a trick. Dean could be opening up to him finally, or he could be manipulating him just as easily. He can’t stand feeling so unsure of himself. Just a few days ago, he would have done whatever he felt like doing without any regard to how Dean would react. Having burgeoning feelings for the man is irksome. He is out of his depth. It is so much easier not to let himself care.

However, he loves hearing Dean call him ‘my prince’ with such a possessive tone. His emphasis is all on the word ‘my’. Mine. To his ears, it sounds like he is he is being claimed. 

Fuck, if that isn’t the sweetest thought of the day.

He’s feeling quite solicitous of the man’s attentions as well. Every time he notices Dean’s coat, his cock twitches. Seeing his own clothes warming the gorgeous man is bringing out base instincts, making him feel animalistic and ready to claim what he wants.

“Many things are more valuable and desirable than gold.”

“Such as?”

Cas waits. Watches. Tilts his head in contemplation.

“Don’t get shy on me now, draga meu,” Dean challenges, intentionally mimicking the Romanian endearment. He doesn’t miss Cas’s breath hitch at the sound of it on Dean’s tongue.

Cas knows that he shouldn’t entertain this recklessness. It could so easily backfire on him, but the temptation is too great. He makes a mental note to teach Dean more Romanian. The familiar words from his soldier’s mouth feel like an embrace. 

If he lets Dean control the scenario, perhaps he can play a little without negative consequences. Cas leans back on his hands with his legs straightened in front of him. It is the least threatening posture he can imagine. “What are you willing to give, băiat dulce?”

Dean looks to his mouth almost instinctively. Yes. Cas is ready to give up any secret he possesses to get another taste of those lips.

“Come here,” Cas commands quietly, letting Dean get away with not voicing his desires.

Dean hesitates, finally leaning closer after a loud huff of breath. Cas doesn’t move except to tilt his head to a better angle. If Dean wants to kiss him, he will have to be bold enough to take it.

Their lips touch, but still do not press. Cas encourages by sliding them gently against each other. Dean finally takes, giving firm pressure. He keeps the kiss chaste and leans back too soon. Cas opens his eyes and whispers, “Do you want more?”

Dean nods minutely and gives Cas a more confident kiss. When he opens to Cas’s mouth and licks along the seam, it is pure; delightful. This rough warrior kisses him so timidly. He aches to take control but knows he can’t. 

He lets Dean explore his mouth instead. The intensity of the kiss picks up slowly, until Dean shifts closer, sliding his arm along his waist and to the ground behind him. Then, they combust. This kiss is perfection. Cas feels lightning rush through his veins, burning him everywhere. He understands what writers mean by ‘time stands still’. For him, nothing exists beyond this man. Dean is so close now, chest to chest, that Cas can’t help but put his hands on him. They bracket his jawline, with their fingertips brushing against his neck. His thumbs caress along sharp cheekbones as Dean moans.

Their tongues meet and roll together forcefully, separating only long enough to allow shallow breaths. Spiraling inward, hands clench and pace quickens. Hearts race and eyes squeeze shut. Dean never wants to move from this position, but even in his exuberance, the guilt is seeping in. It is Cas that pulls away first.

“Stop. Stop, Dean,” he groans. “We’re getting carried away.”

Dean looks down, trying to catch his breath and feeling a bit dejected. 

Cas tilts his head back up and teases, “I was expecting a chaste kiss. That was very unexpected.”

Dean’s skin erupts with heat. He is feeling vulnerable, and it’s taking a minute to bring his defenses back around him. Cas brushes a soft thumb over Dean’s lips. 

“For a kiss like that, though, Dean, I will tell you anything you want to know. Anything.” 

Dean’s lips tug into a little chuckle. Just like that, they find their footing. Dean appreciates the attempt to settle him without embarrassment. Cas gives him exactly what he needs to avoid feeling anything but content. 

“So?”

“What?” Cas is waiting for something, but Dean’s still a little rattled and isn’t at his clearest. 

“You earned a secret. What do you want to know?” While Dean is weighing his options, Cas interrupts, “Make it a good one. You deserve it.” 

Dean nods his head, still thinking. Quietly, he asks, “When did you know you were attracted to men?”

It is not easy to surprise Cas. He has experienced a great deal in his short life, but Dean defies all of his assumptions. Perhaps that is why he remains so fascinated with this man.

Cas answers earnestly. “I was still in school, before Paris. Maybe thirteen? I had kissed girls, but I was told that boys didn’t kiss boys, and I accepted it, just as I accepted everything that I was told at that age. The earth orbits the sun, horses are mammals, boys aren’t supposed to be together.”

Dean finishes his tuiça while he listens. 

“But then a servant came to the castle with his family. Pavel. He was a year or so older, and very handsome. He was much taller, wore his hair long and tied back. He was rebellious and wild. I was smitten.”

“You weren’t experiencing hero worship?” 

“Perhaps a little, but I also wanted him. I didn’t know quite what that meant, only that it wasn’t what I was supposed to feel. Not according to everyone at court.”

“Did you get your kiss?”

Cas barks out a laugh. “Yes, I did. I marched up to him, pulled his face down and planted a big kiss on him. And then with one punch, he knocked me down and gave me a huge black eye.”

Dean can’t help but laugh along in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible.”

Cas shrugs. “It was a good lesson. I learned the importance of consent at a young age.” That has Dean laughing harder. The grin he receives warms him. 

“When did you know?”

Dean stills. “I’m not attracted to men.”

Cas raises an eyebrow and scoffs. 

“I’m not. I never have been.”

“I would be a lot more likely to believe that nonsense if my lips weren’t still tingling from that scorching hot kiss you gave me a minute ago,” he chastises. 

Dean blushes again and clears his throat. “It’s just you,” he admits.

Never mind surprise. He is gob smacked.

“You mean, I’m the only man you’ve kissed?” 

Dean shakes his head. “I’ve never thought about men sexually.”

“Until now?” Cas clarifies. 

Dean narrows his eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. This is humiliating enough.”

“No, no, no. Don’t feel humiliated. I’ve never been so flattered.”

He rolls his eyes and stands. It is getting late and they need to head back. 

“Dean.” 

His body jerks to a halt at the tone in Cas’s voice. Complete authority. Complete command. 

“Do not trivialize this. I don’t have words for how honored I feel. Can you imagine if our places were reversed? How special that would make you feel? How unique?”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m a skeptic. I would probably think it was just a phase.”

“Is it? Just a phase?”

Dean meets his eyes earnestly. “No, Cas. It’s not a phase. I can’t- I can’t act on it. I can’t allow myself…but it’s real.”

Before Cas can respond, Dean adds, “Come on, you have a fancy dinner tonight, and you need to get ready.”

Cas lets him avoid further scrutiny and sinks into his own thoughts as they head back down through the foothills. They make it all the way to the edge of the forest, the castle in sight, before Cas huffs out in amusement. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about how far we’ve come.”

Dean quirks a brow in question with a smile in his eyes. Cas sees true affection there, mirroring his own.

“It wasn’t that long ago that you were plotting my death several times a day. You were very creative, too.” 

Cas is so caught up in his reminiscence that he doesn’t see Dean’s body go rigid or his face turn stern and cold. 

“I think my absolute favorite plot was the one where you were going to poison my-” The prince stops abruptly when he realizes that Dean is no longer next to him. He spins his horse to find him.

“Castiel!” The word is spit out like a warning and a curse. It is so jarring that he jumps. 

“Dean? What’s wrong?” His stomach drops with dread.

Glaring eyes pin him down. “The only time I ever spoke treasonous words like that was in a language my captors couldn’t speak. I only spoke them in English.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	10. I Wash the Streets from your Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas brushes the dust off of his English, and Dean does his job a little too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was quick. I left our boys in a not too good place last time, so I wanted to resolve it asap. That and it's a long weekend, so more time to write.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Romanian:  
> Războinic= warrior (Cas's horse)  
> băiat dulce= sweet boy

His heart is racing. The change in Dean is terrifying to behold. His anger, righteous as it is, is overwhelming. Thinking back, Dean had often muttered things under his breath in his native tongue. Castiel never noticed a pattern to it; he had just thought it was a quirk, like his own inability to use pet names in a language other than Romanian. How did he miss such an obvious fact? Shit! 

There is no getting around it. Confession time. Castiel clears his throat and apologizes, “I’m sorry that I didn’t-”

Dean roars over him, “In English, Castiel! Since now I know you can.”

Cas drops his head and nods. He hasn’t spoken the language in over a year. He has forgotten a great deal of what he knew. He is still incredibly reluctant to prove that he has the ability, is nauseated because of it, but he will do it for Dean. 

“I am sorry. I did not speak for no-”. He stops. Shakes his head. That isn’t right. “I have reasons for hiding.”

Even knowing that Cas is going to speak to him in English doesn’t prepare him adequately. It is surreal. For weeks, he has associated that rocky, smoky voice with the elegant lilt of French or the guttural grip of Romanian. So many thoughts are warring for his attention. He knows he is staring with a gob smacked look on his face. He finally huffs out a humorless laugh and stares at the sky. 

“Jesus, Cas. All this time…” 

He looks to the prince that he feels so much for. He thought they were becoming friends. Why? Why wouldn’t he…“I struggle to speak French. Every day you watched me struggle and you never once… You let me flounder.”

Cas meets his eye shyly. It pains him to see that he has caused Dean more hurt. 

“Not for you.” Cas mutters quietly. 

“What?” 

“I am not hiding for you. My brothers. They can not know. No one can know.”

Dean is hurt. He knows that they were not friends when he was imprisoned. In fact, he can hardly call them that now. He doesn’t have any right to expect loyalty and trust from Castiel, except that he does. He knows that the prince probably has good reasons for keeping secrets. He has confirmed as much several times. Still. He could have told Dean. He could have trusted him with this. They spend a great deal of their time locked away together, so he had plenty of opportunity. 

The more he rationalizes his feelings, the hotter he stokes the fire of his anger. He shakes his head in disbelief and then, with the impulse to get himself out of this insane situation, reins the horse in hard away from the castle and kicks his flanks. 

The stallion leaps forward, unsure of the sudden command until he kicks again. He is a beautiful, strong horse, so he sprints towards where Dean is guiding him. With every stride away from the castle, he feels better. He can breathe. He vaguely hears a shout of alarm behind him. He should have anticipated that Castiel wouldn’t just let him escape.

As soon as Cas’s brain catches up with what is happening, adrenaline spikes through his body and a scream leaves his lips, “NO!” 

Hazarding a glance toward the castle confirms his worst suspicions. Dean’s abrupt movement away from both the castle and the prince has caught the guards’ attention. Even now, they are mounting horses and heading out of the gates. 

“Fuck!” he shouts as he whirls his own horse to give chase. He has to catch up to Dean. He has to get there before the guards. His breathing is erratic panic as he lays close against the neck of Războinic, urging him on faster. He doesn’t want to give Dean reason to make any further rash decisions, so he keeps quiet as he closes the gap. Hopefully, the pounding of his own horse’s hooves will mask Castiel’s fast approach. He slides to the right side of Dean’s horse, cutting off the path towards the forest. 

The moment that Dean feels him there, he finally speaks, “Dean, stop! Please! I’m begging you. Please, they are watching.”

Honest, intense dread is on Castiel’s face. The sight of horror on the prince’s face is such a shock that Dean’s grip on the reins tightens. He pulls the horse back slowly. When they are stopped, Cas has intentionally placed himself facing away from his home. 

“The guards. Are they still coming?” His chest is heaving, eyes wide. 

Dean glances back surreptitiously and nods. There are a lot of them, charging hard. Damn him and his impulsivity. “Shit,” he groans.

“Laugh.”

“What?”

The command comes back into Cas’s voice. “Laugh like we are having fun, and then turn toward the castle with me.”

Dean looks like he is going to argue, like he is still thinking of escape. Like he is going to leave Cas.

“Dean! If you want to be in chains, then run. I can not stop you. If not? Do what I tell you.”

Dean doesn’t respond other than to lean back and belt out uproarious laughter. He pats Cas on the shoulder as he starts back toward the castle. Cas takes a few deep breaths to center himself, and then starts his own performance.

*****

When he shuts the door to his chambers, Cas allows his mask of playful civility to drop. He slides down to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. Dean is conspicuously silent. He knows that he owes an explanation, but his heart is still hammering in fear. The guards that chased them turned out to be Alastair’s minions instead of the normal castle guards. The infamous man was not among them himself, but this was the next to worst possible scenario. Their story was questioned, they were treated with suspicion, and he was certain that a full report was on its way to the vile captain. 

“Cas-” Dean starts to speak, but the prince cuts him off with a look.

“Give me a minute, please. We can talk, but I just…” Cas hates having to dig around for words. He tries the word in his native tongue before resorting to French. “J'ai besoin d'une minute.”

Dean nods. “I’ll get your bath ready. You still have that dinner.” He takes a few steps and then adds. “Need. The word you're looking for is need.”

Cas drops his head back on the door, but he allows a little smile. Perhaps Dean is willing to forgive him. 

Steaming water had been brought in and poured into the tub before they arrived, so Dean is using his job as an excuse to give Cas time to regroup. Honestly, he needs it as well. Seeing those uniforms again brought him back to his first days at the castle. It concerns him that Cas had been so anxious around them. Is it his fear for Dean that made him so nervous, or is there some other reason? He hears Cas move behind the privacy screen. Normally, this is when he takes his leave. He wants some answers, though, and Castiel needs to leave for dinner soon, so it is now or never.

Cas comes to a halt when he sees Dean leaning against a table by the tub. His arms are crossed in challenge. Okay, then. Apparently, they are going to talk now. While one of them is naked. Excellent. He wouldn’t normally take issue with being naked in front of Dean. He revels in the dark look in those wide eyes; the desire evident on his face. It is counterproductive, though. Just a few hours ago, Dean told him that he was the only man he had ever felt attraction to, but that he couldn’t act on it…after Dean had kissed him like the taste of the prince was the only thing keeping him alive. The young soldier needs time to sort out whatever is holding him back. Flaunting his body is not a good idea. 

“Are you staying?” Cas asks with a bite, obviously not happy about it.

Dean smiles like a shark, “Yes, it’s my job, isn’t it?”

“You have never cared about that before.”

Dean doesn’t reply, just waits. Shit. He sometimes hates that Dean is not easily controlled, especially by deference to his title. Anyone else would fall all over themselves to avoid his displeasure. Cas steps into the large tub and has barely submerged himself before the first question comes. 

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asks carefully.

“No. We’re not playing right now, Castiel.

Fine. He admits quietly, “If my brothers knew, I would be used as a spy. They do not trust your country.”

It makes sense to Dean. After meeting Cas’s asshole brother and seeing the bruises he left when Cas defied the man, he is certain that keeping secrets would be a necessary part of Cas’s life. His reasons are a great deal more important than Dean’s hurt feelings, his pride. There’s more to the question of why, though. A personal reason. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and kneels by the tub, leaning over the edge.

“Why didn’t you tell me when we were alone? You still don’t trust me, do you?”

Cas would wipe away the sting of his words if he could. “I trust you, băiat dulce, but I can not make mistakes. I am afraid that if I speak to you in English, I may do so where someone could overhear. It would get back to Alex.”

Dean contemplates his answer and then nods his head once. Acceptance. Cas is baffled.

“We are good?”

“Yes.” Dean takes the soap and linen from the tray next to him. He soaks the linen and rubs them together until suds foam up. He takes Cas’s hand resting by him on the lip of the tub, holding it while stroking the soapy cloth along his skin. 

“That easy?”

“That depends,” he smiles. “Do you forgive my rash behavior?” 

As he waits for Cas to reply, he turns his hand and smooths the cloth back down the inside of Cas’s arm. 

“Nothing to forgive.”

Dean continues to stroke the prince’s skin with the soapy cloth, up over his shoulders and neck, and back down. He relishes this closeness, glad that they are at peace with each other again. Tentative, maybe, but that’s better than he expected. He lets that hand fall into the water and holds his hand out for the other one. 

“You do not have to-”

“I want to, Cas. Let me.” 

Cas smiles at the replay of his words from last night. He lifts his hand and places it in Dean’s. Dean laces their fingers together before continuing his cleaning. Slowly, Cas lets his thumb stroke over Dean’s wrist and down to his palm, a gentle caress to reciprocate this sweet gesture. 

As he continues the slow stroking, he imagines what sex with Castiel would be like. Feeling those long fingers grip him, move him. Would he be sweet and tender afterwards or leave him to care for himself? Thinking back, he’s pretty sure that the prince would be nothing if not attentive. Dean imagines lounging in the bath with him, sated and content.

“Dean, can I ask for one of your secrets?”

Dean twitches a lop-sided grin. “You know the cost, Cas.”

“One I will gladly pay.” 

Dean is already hovering over the tub, so it only takes leaning down a few inches to collect his payment. It is Cas’s question, so Dean lets him control the kiss. It is firm, demanding and deep. Cas possesses, claims. When he starts to lean back, he finds his bottom lip caught in the pinching pressure of Cas’s teeth. Cas gradually lets it slip free, leaving Dean breathless and squirming. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs. 

Cas chuckles, “You accept the payment, then?”

Dean is in deep. Not only was he just kissed stupid by a very wet, naked Cas, but that Romanian accented English is fucking gorgeous. His normal rough, whiskey tones can get a rise out of Dean, but those trilled ‘R’s send shivers down his spine. Every ‘T’ is rounded to a ‘D’, and every vowel sits right behind his teeth. Dean wants to swallow them all down. Damn. 

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that was very, very acceptable.”

“Tell me why you have the education of a noble.”

Dean stills. He was hoping that their conversation would continue towards the physical, that Cas would keep flirting with him. Now he has to make a difficult choice. He picks up the cloth and shifts to the front of the tub, so he is behind Cas. Leaning over his shoulder, he starts gently scrubbing his chest. He doesn’t question why touching a man this intimately doesn’t bother him. In fact, as soon as his fingers make contact, he feels another notch of sexual tension winding tighter. If he believed in witchcraft, he would think that Castiel is casting a spell on him. Perhaps that’s why his closely protected secrets spill so easily.

“I am of noble birth,” Dean confirms inches from Cas’s ear. “I will be the next Baron Hawke.”

Cas hums approval, of Dean’s touch or his words he isn’t sure, so he continues both. Dean stretches down over his stomach on the next passes, letting his fingers linger below the cloth before returning above the water. As those low muscles bunch and twitch under his hand, he brushes his lips against Cas’s neck and continues.

“It isn’t a wealthy title, and we have very little except land, but it has afforded some luxuries to my family that others are denied.”

Cas fights the compulsion to arch up into his inquisitive fingers. “Why hide that? It would open doors for you.”

“Uh uh, Cas. That’s another secret.”

Cas is losing the will to continue with his plan. This provocative man is getting beneath his skin like no one before him. His stoic, grumpy soldier was enough of a puzzle to solve, but this open, lighter side of Dean is delightful. He yearns to pull Dean into the tub with him, get him wet and take him apart. He wants to bar the door and refuse to let either of them leave until he has kissed and licked and sucked on every inch of his smooth skin. 

He turns his head to the side to catch Dean’s eyes. The heat there is beautiful; such expressive eyes, lidded as they are in desire. Cas lets him close the gap while he runs his fingers up behind Dean’s head and into that soft hair that defies description. It varies in shade from honey to fawn to mahogany, depending on the light. He wants to tug and pull on it, but he keeps his touch gentle, contenting himself with devouring Dean’s lips. They taste as sweet as they did when they were covered in honey. Better, even, because he can tease out his natural flavor without the sugary distraction. 

Dean moans into his mouth, obviously getting just as much enjoyment out of the kiss. Once he allowed himself the first kiss, the floodgates swung open wide. He can’t seem to find the will to close them again. This feels too good, too much like giving in to everything he has ever been denied because of duty to family or crown. It may be impetuous, but he will worry about consequences later. 

“Give me your answer,” Cas breathes heavily, and now he does grip his hair to maneuver Dean back so he has room to speak. Dean sucks in a sharp breath at the unexpected sting, but it blends into a needy exhale as the quick pain shifts to tingling pleasure. Cas notices his reaction with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“I didn’t want to give your soldiers any leverage. They might think me a prize to wield against the crown.”

Both panting, Cas goes up on his knees to face Dean over the edge of the tub. Cas hums that little sound of approval that Dean is starting to associate with rampant desire. Dean slicks his hands down his sides and to his waist. Oh fuck, that feels…like his hands belong there. He lets his thumbs caress over sharp hipbones even as his fingers clench. His eyes are locked on Cas, so he sees the longing as clear as he feels his own. 

The moment holds, wavers, and Cas breaks it by pulling Dean to him roughly. Language is meaningless. They communicate everything with their fingers, lips, and tongues. Soft sounds escape; whimpers, gasps, moans. 

Without truly ending the kiss, Cas groans and whispers praise. “Dean, you are amazing. Fuck. I’m trying to be a gentleman, but my resolve is weakening. If we don’t stop, we not will be going anywhere but my bed.”

As his tongue continues to play over Cas’s lips, he replies, “I’ve watched you bring three people to orgasm at the same time. I didn’t think gentleman was in your vocabulary.”

Cas turns his head away, ending the kiss. “You do not want that. I don’t want that for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Wishing for all the world that he could make Dean understand in his native tongue instead of a fourth language. “Sex without feeling. That is not you. You are better. You should have better.”

Dean blushes and looks down, but he doesn’t deny Cas’s words. “You told me today that you could not act on your attraction to me. Tonight, we are ready to fuck in my tub.” He takes a long, appreciative look at Dean, his shirt soaked from the water. “So ready,” he amends with hunger. 

“You think I will regret it.” It starts as a challenge, but as the haze of lust starts to dissipate, he feels panic rising. What the hell is he doing? He is trying to play a very dangerous game with someone who is an expert. Castiel doesn’t have any qualms about his sexuality. It isn’t his responsibility to stop Dean from taking this flirtation farther than he intends to. 

Dean’s poking a tiger, half hoping that he will get mauled. More than half, if he’s honest. It would be so easy to push Cas to the breaking point and let the man have his way. He could assign blame for his seduction to the prince, and not have to look too deeply into the truth. 

“Today? I know you will. One day soon? Maybe not. I pray that day will come.”

Dean holds the prince’s earnest gaze. He feels shame. Not because of this infatuation or for anything sexual that is happening between them. He is ashamed of his cowardice. If he can’t own his decisions, then he has no business engaging this captivating man.

Sheepishly, he says, “I’m sorry, Cas. I-” 

Firm lips cut off his words. “Don’t be sorry. Just be certain.”

Dean nods in agreement. Cas smiles and steals the linen from him.

“Now, let me finish my bath in peace. I don’t have enough self-control to let you near my dick without doing something that will truly shock you.”

Cas watches Dean’s flushed cheeks and jittery exit with a smirk. Damn, but he is expressive. He hasn’t sent a prayer heavenward in a very long time, but he does now. He practically begs the Almighty for a chance with his fascinating Englishman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is wonderful and soul-strengthening. Please comment.
> 
> Until next time...
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	11. Just Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celibacy and sobriety are not easy for Cas. Dean is a brat, but still receives presents and good news. Cas really, really enjoys a show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This one got away from me. This was supposed to be a plot-heavy chapter. It is that, but they got a little carried away there. 
> 
> As always, I love reading your feedback. 
> 
> Romanian pet names: 
> 
> Broscoi = brat  
> mare şicana = big tease  
> băiat dragă = darling boy  
> ingerul meu = my angel

Dean can feel fingers ruffling in his hair, breath on his neck. A contented sigh puffs from his lips as he sinks deeper into the sumptuous bedding. Although he had never felt it before laying in this bed, Dean is now addicted to the cool whisper of silk against his skin. He stretches his arms above his head to enjoy more of the feathery friction. 

Cas’s chuckle delights his ears. “Wake up, Dean.” 

Disgruntled, he lets one eye open. Cas is hovering over him, dressed already, crisp and refreshed. 

“How are you up before me?” 

The prince gives him a stern look. “It’s a busy day, broscoi. We can’t all sleep in.” 

Dean can’t help but laugh at the irony in that statement. “Now, if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black.” 

The confused head tilt warms him. Cas is shaking the rust off of his unpracticed English, but idioms still throw him off. Which means that Dean digs deep into his repertoire to use them often. It’s possible that Dean has earned his sobriquet of ‘brat’. 

He takes pity on the prince. “It just means that I find it ironic that you chastise me for sleeping in when you have hardly ever been out of this bed before noon.” 

Cas’s disapproving sound is the only warning before the heavy weight of blankets and furs is ripped off of him and his legs are forcefully yanked off the edge of the bed. The prince is looming over him now, leaning into his space with a calculating look. 

“I came to give you your present, Dean, but I think now you’ll have to wait.” 

“Present?” Dean sits up, sudden interest playing over his face. The movement puts his face close to Cas’s, which he uses to his advantage. He drags the knuckles of his hand along the prince’s jaw and looks up through his lashes. “What can I do to get my present now?” 

Cas huffs and looks heavenward to pray for strength while uttering some truly foul Romanian. Dean recognizes a few words, enough to take offense. 

“Little tease?” Dean stands up, which forces his chest to bump into Cas and push him back. The taller man uses it to his advantage and looks down into pools of blue framed by artfully tousled black hair. “There’s nothing little about me, Cas.” 

Without breaking eye contact, Cas slides his fingers firmly over Dean’s groin, molding them to the impressive shape of Dean’s cock. That effectively stops Dean’s teasing immediately as he can only suck in a ragged breath. Cas literally has him by the balls. 

“Hmm. You’re right, Dean. There is definitely nothing little about you,” he confirms. Cas gives him a little squeeze before releasing altogether and walking to the wardrobe. 

A quick glance over his shoulder shows that Dean seems to be stuck. “Sit down, mare şicana.” 

Dean sits without resistance, and Cas hums in approval. Dean wishes he understood why that sound warmed him so much. 

Cas returns with an ornate box and sits next to him on the bed cross-legged. 

“Why am I getting a present?” 

Cas tilts his head again, which just gets more adorable the more he does it. “It’s St. Andrew’s Feast Day.” 

Dean raises a brow, waiting for more information. 

Cas huffs and informs him that it is the first day of their Christmas season. 

“Like Advent?” 

“Yes, but our season does not last quite as long.” 

“I don’t remember anything about receiving presents for Advent, Cas.” Dean is teasing him again. He can see that this gift is making Cas a little nervous, more in anticipation than anything else. 

“Yes, well, it is Wallachian tradition,” he sniffs haughtily before giving in to laughter. 

“This is for you, Dean. I hope you will never need to use it.” 

Dean smiles sweetly at him before looking at the box in his hands. He smooths a hand over the beautiful inlaid wood box. If just the wrapping is this breathtaking, he’s afraid to see what it contains. When he does remove the lid, breath punches out of him and his body lights up with excitement. 

“No way! I can’t believe it. How did you…” 

Dean stops his yammering to pick up the priceless kukri knife. He unsheathes it slowly, revealing the signature curved blade. He drops the leather sheath to let the blade touch his fingertips. The silver shines, catching and warping his ecstatic face in its reflection. He can see how sharp the blade is, despite its thickness, and he can’t help but run the pad of his thumb over it. Lethal. He examines every inch of his treasure, from the artistic notch in the blade to the exquisite silver inlay on the hilt. 

He stops his amazed perusal to look back at Cas. The prince seems very pleased with his reaction. 

“Cas, it’s a work of art. I can’t thank you enough.” 

“I’m glad that you can appreciate its beauty.” 

Dean can’t seem to set the blade down. It has him mesmerized. “Where did you find it?” 

“I lived in India for the past two years, and I bought it when I visited Nepal and Mongolia.” 

Dean’s eyes jerked back to him. “So this is a true Gurkha kukri?” 

Cas nods and happily watches Dean admire his gift. He won’t tell him the true provenance of the blade. Not yet. It is one of a matching set. The other is Cas’s blade. They were made for two Nepalese warriors who fell in love with each other. They could not marry, but the knives were their promise to each other. They both carried the blades until their deaths many years ago. 

Cas isn’t sure why he bought the blades originally, and he isn’t sure why he has been itching to give this one to Dean. He only knows that seeing the blade in Dean’s hands settles some disquiet in his mind. 

“Would you like to go for a ride before the feast? You can test out your present, if you like.” 

Cas is enamored by the happiness in his soldier’s face. It is becoming his personal mission to keep putting that expression of joy there. 

Dean leans forward and touches his forehead to Cas’s, cradling his head in his hands. It is an intimate gesture, one that speaks of a closeness beyond friendship. 

“Thank you, Cas. This is amazing. I love it.” 

 

***** 

Watching Dean wield his knife is more enjoyable than he thought it would be. After a vigorous ride over the plains, Cas brought him to a small lake in the hills. Dean has been testing the weight and sharpness of the blade, the best striking angles, and sparring with a pretend foe for the better part of an hour; working through patterns and forms of hand to hand combat that Cas can’t begin to comprehend. It’s beautiful and deadly, and if he’s honest, Dean’s singular focus has him a little worked up. 

Cas is using the time to think, which amounts to him watching the play of muscles in his Englishman’s arms and fantasizing about them. There might be a few other thoughts sneaking through, but the bulk of them have to do with Dean and the various positions he wants to fuck him in. He walks to the water’s edge and scoops up a handful. He takes a sip and uses the rest to splash on his face and the back of his neck. He needs to cool down and get a grip on his libido. He hasn’t been this out of control since he was fourteen. It’s a combination of his self-enforced celibacy and his developing relationship with Dean. Having the man in his bed, in his company, at his beck and call is wearing on his thin veil of restraint. 

The true problem is that he’s never had to show restraint before. There’s never been a period of more than a few days where he couldn’t take care of his body’s needs with one willing partner or another. He doesn’t have any experience with romantic relationships, either. He’s fucked the same person for an extended period of time, and he’s even had a few fairly regular submissives. None of those situations were romantic and they were never monogamous. Cas wants more with Dean. He is the first man, person, ever to incite these feelings in him. To be deserving of this gorgeous man, he will wait patiently and not push him. If he needs to take himself in hand five times a day, he will do it to give Dean time. 

Cas seeks him out now so he can bask in the warmth of his attention. He wisely approaches where he is in Dean’s sight line. He might not know much about combat and weapons, but he knows that much. 

“Cas, this blade is a marvel,” he praises while he sucks in quick breaths. Oh, dear lord in heaven. Dean is a sweaty mess. He tracks a droplet fall from his hairline and slip down his cheek. Cas shivers at the lusty images racing through his head. His mouth goes dry at the thought of him working Dean into a sweat. At the blank, gaping look on his face, Dean begins to feel self-conscious. 

“Cas, what’s wrong?” 

The prince clears his throat and mentally shakes off his distractions. He graces Dean with a bright grin. “Nothing, Dean. I’m glad that the knife is functional and not just pretty.” 

“Oh, it’s more than functional. Look at this,” Dean exclaims. He holds the large knife on a single fingertip. “The balance is perfect.” 

“I would cut a finger off if I tried that,” Cas teases. 

Dean chuckles as he re-sheathes the knife and gives Cas his undivided attention. “Do we still have some time before we need to get back?” 

Cas nods and wanders to his horse to get a canteen out of the saddlebags. He brings it back and lets Dean have a long drink before he does the same. “What did you have in mind?” 

Dean stammers a bit looking for an answer. “I wanted to – I guess I” 

Cas puts a finger to his lips. “There is no need to feel unsure with me, draga meu. Tell me what you want. If it is within my power, I will make it happen.” 

Dean’s lips quirk up. His skin would be pinking up if it wasn’t already bright with cold. “It wasn’t anything important. I just wanted to go for a walk with you and talk. We won’t have much time once we get back because of the feast, so…I just didn’t know if you would want to. That’s all.” 

“Of course I want to. I have no desire to get back and be Prince Castiel Cuza.” 

They start off walking, following the waterline. As he slides Cas’s hand in his, Dean teases, “You don’t enjoy the attention, my prince?” 

“Not particularly, no. Every event is a long, boring show of diplomacy and ceremony. God forbid I try to be myself.” 

“That’s your brother talking. I think the people would be impressed by the real Castiel.”

Cas gives him a tentative look, trying to decide if he is being earnest. 

“Cas, you have a brilliant mind, you stand up for what you think is right, often at great personal risk, you care deeply for people, and you have a wicked sense of humor. Anyone would be fortunate to know you.” 

For the first time, Dean sees Cas blush. When he looks back at Dean, his eyes seem to almost glow in contrast. Dean feels his breath hitch. Wow. In his distraction, he stops walking. They are isolated in this place, miles away from anything. It feels like they are the only two people in the world. The moment feels heavy, ominous. It feels like the right time for a discussion he has been wanting to have with Cas, but he doesn’t want to shatter the lovely moment. 

“What do you want to ask, Dean?” 

He sometimes hates the prince’s perceptiveness. Maybe his face is too expressive. Either way, it feels like the man can read his mind and he already feels vulnerable talking about this. He ducks his head, trying to compose the words. Cas waits, rubbing his thumbs over his hands. 

“Is it legal for men to be together here? It isn’t in England.” 

Cas’s heart leaps at the question. It shows thought; it means progress. ‘Don’t get carried away’, he warns himself. He might just be curious. Cas needs to remain as objective as possible. Give him factual information and do not try to persuade him. 

“There are some minor laws against it, particularly the act of sodomy, but those laws have never applied to the nobility and especially the royal family.” 

At Dean’s look of frustration, Cas agrees, “I know. It’s not fair, but it has been this way for centuries. It goes as far back as Vlad the Impaler. His brother, Radu, was known for his ‘effeminate’ behavior, as they called it. Throughout our history, we have had many rulers who took male lovers. Honestly, the only reason the laws still exist is that they are left over from one of our more zealous overlords.” 

He wants to make sure that Dean has a complete understanding of the issue, so he continues. “Even with such lax laws, it is still frowned upon, despite our history. Our official church is Eastern Orthodox, which believes same sex relations to be a sin.” 

Dean seems to be processing, but he doesn’t ask another question. Cas decides to prompt. “Is that all you wanted to ask?” 

“No, um. The rest would be more personal, though. I don’t think I should…” 

Cas steps closer. “Are you asking for my secrets, Dean?” 

His eyes light with mischief. “I don’t know. Do you keep anything about your sex life secret?” 

Cas gapes at him in shock. “Dean!” 

Dean can’t help but laugh at his outrage. He takes a few steps back to keep himself out of striking distance. Cas is rolling storm clouds and raging wind. The look in his eyes promises retribution. 

“I’m sorry, Cas. I was uncomfortable and you made it so easy for me to make a joke.” 

“That was rude.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

“I might be more likely to believe that if you weren’t still giggling.” 

Dean schools his face and holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, my prince. That was hitting below the belt.” 

Cas puts both fists on his hips and scolds, “So help me God, Dean Winchester, if you make a joke about what is below my belt, I will drown you in this lake.” 

Dean loses his battle with composure and bellows his laughter. He laughs so hard that he drops his hands to his knees and eventually has to fall back to sit on the ground. He is wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes when he sees that Cas is still scowling at him. It’s unfortunate that Dean just can’t help himself sometimes. 

“You have to admit, though, I have a lot of intimate knowledge of you that I didn’t gain from personal experience.” 

His royal countenance is back in full force. “Well, and now you never will.” 

Cas turns on his heels and walks back toward their horses. 

Dean scurries to catch up. Fear chokes him. “Cas. Cas!” 

The prince stops but doesn’t turn. Dean gets in front of him. “Are you really mad? I thought you- I didn’t think you were embarrassed by anything sexual.” 

“I’m not embarrassed, Dean, but I am very aware that my choices aren’t conventional. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve come under fire because of them.” 

“Under fire?” Dean shakes his head vigorously. “No, Cas. You’ve got me all wrong. I’m not condemning you for anything. I admire you, actually.” 

Cas crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Explain that.” 

Dean puts his hands together in supplication. “You’re not afraid to do exactly what you want, when you want. I’ve always put my duty to my family first and to the crown second. There’s hardly ever been room for what I want. You? You’re fearless.” 

Cas’s ire melts away at his simple explanation. His poor Dean has no idea what he wants because he’s never been given a choice to want anything but what he is told to want. It explains so much. He’s gone from dutiful heir to dutiful soldier. That doesn’t mean that Cas is done punishing him for his impudence, though. 

“You want my forgiveness?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Beg.” 

“What?” 

“Grovel. Make me believe that you are truly sorry.” 

Without thought, Dean drops to his knees and bows his head. He quietly apologizes, “I beg your forgiveness for my insensitive comments, my prince.” 

Cas’s heart stops the second he sees Dean go to his knees. The man has no way of knowing the significance of the gesture. He has no idea what the submissive position means to Castiel. To see him fall into it so naturally pulls a wounded sound from the prince’s throat. He is so utterly and unbelievably perfect. 

Dean looks up from his place at Cas’s feet with pleading eyes. “Am I forgiven?” 

Cas isn’t going to survive this day. He closes his eyes to breathe through the wave of lust that overtakes him at the innocent question that feels so much like giving over control. Fuck. At least he doesn’t need to worry about coming up with a fantasy to jerk off to later. That one sight will suffice for the next few weeks. Or longer. 

Cas reaches a hand down for Dean to take so he can help him to his feet. He doesn’t dare look down again. When he is standing, Cas finally opens his eyes. Resolve broken, he pulls Dean in for a bruising kiss. He only allows it to continue for a moment, before moving away to touch their foreheads together. Dean’s hands come to rest on Cas’s wrists while his hands cradle his face. Cas breathes slowly, enjoying the connection. 

“Cas, did I do something wrong?” Dean sounds completely unmoored. Of course he doesn’t understand the struggle Cas is feeling. He knows nothing of dominance and submission. 

“No, sweetheart. You did everything right.” 

After a few more breaths, he explains, “Just. Don’t go to your knees for me until we talk about what it means. Okay?” 

As soon as Dean opens his mouth, Cas knows what he will ask. “Not today, draga meu. We can discuss many things, but that question is for a day far in the future. 

 

***** 

 

As Castiel guides the swerving man back to their shared chambers, he wishes that Dean had heeded his warning about the tuiça. It was an emotional evening for everyone, so he understands why Dean let go of his vaunted self-control. Castiel is having a difficult enough time resisting his temptation without Dean’s complete lack of inhibitions. He humbly accepts the karmic justice of dealing with an amorous drunk while his own self-control is stretched so thin, and he prays for strength. Castiel’s been fending off Dean’s hands for three flights of stairs, and he imagines he will have to do so until he passes out. 

“Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“I want you to see me naked, I think.” 

The prince chuckles, “Is that right?” 

“Yes, I think so. I’ve seen you naked a lot. I think it’s fair.” 

“Dean, no one is getting naked tonight.” 

“That’s not the right answer.” 

“Oh, it definitely is, băiat dragă,” he sighs. 

Dean stops short and leans against the wall. Cas staggers back with him as the drunk soldier has a death grip on him. Dean’s head weaves as he tries to focus. “You’re beautiful, Cas.” 

“Tell me that tomorrow, alright?” 

Dean’s pout is precious and ridiculous at the same time. Cas grins and kisses it. “If you can behave yourself all the way to my chambers, I will help you undress. Will that be acceptable?” 

Dean nods, the motion too big and too wobbly, but he is much more cooperative. 

Dean collapses on the bed fully dressed, so the prince finally has peace. As he carefully removes Dean’s layers to make him comfortable, he thinks through his next steps. During the week, word had come from the British Navy regarding Dean. He thanks all that is holy that they understood the subtle wording in his letter to them and didn’t expressly state that their knowledge of Captain Winchester came from within the castle. They simply acknowledged that their soldier was at Castle Peleş, that he was serving a short sentence, and that they would collect him in Bucharest when the winter had passed and his sentence had been served. 

Thankfully, his brothers had been in a celebratory mood when they arrived home. Their business had gone well, and their high spirits did much to buoy the prevailing mood in the hall. Food and drink were abundant, and the merriment of the season was infectious. Still, Castiel avoided his brothers until they were all deep in their cups, which is normally when he would have been as well. On feast nights, the prince often found a bed partner or five and retired to his chambers before the clock struck eleven. 

When he did approach Alexander and Michael, he was sure to do so without Dean present. They were both their typical appalling selves, full of vile curses and innuendo for him. Alex had forced Castiel to bring Dean before him, which had gone better than he expected. The crown prince’s wits were considerably dulled by drink, so he failed to notice a lack of shackles on their prisoner. He did, however, notice rumors that Castiel and Dean were now sleeping in the same bed, and that they seemed to be quite friendly. Castiel endured all of the ribald jokes and was grateful that Dean couldn’t speak enough Romanian to understand them. 

In the morning, Castiel plans to fortify all of the promises the crown prince made at the feast. He will take advantage of the fact that he is the only member of the royal family that will not be suffering greatly from this evening’s festivities. He will use that advantage to secure Dean’s position at court. 

 

***** 

 

Cas had finished his morning yoga, eaten breakfast, read the newspaper, and was on his second cup of tea before Dean staggered out of bed. 

“Feeling alright, Dean?” 

He received a truly malicious glare in response. He smiled into his book and kept reading. Dean flopped down in the chair next to Cas, moaned, and closed his eyes. 

“Hungry?” 

Dean’s face went pale and he clutched his stomach. When he peeked an eye open, he saw supreme satisfaction on the prince’s face. “You don’t need to be quite so happy about my pain, Cas.” 

“If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t be in pain,” he teased. 

“Yes, I know. You’re perfect and I’m an idiot,” he sighs as he drapes an arm over his eyes. 

Cas takes pity on the hungover soldier. Even though the pain is a good reminder, he can help, so he will. He pulls a chair over to sit directly in front of Dean’s. When he sits in the chair, he reaches down and grabs his foot. Dean startles at the contact. 

“Easy, Dean. Let me help you.” 

The soldier is skeptical, but allows Cas to keep going. Every bit of doubt flees him when he feels Cas apply firm pressure to the tops of his toes. He continues, kneading out tiny knots and tender spots all down the side of his arch. As Cas moves, the throbbing in his head eases. Dean sighs as he pushes deeply into the center of the foot, leaning into it. 

“Your hands are magic.” 

Cas quirks a satisfied smile. He sets the relaxed foot next to his leg to bend to pick up the other one. “Is your head feeling any better?” 

Dean’s voice is roughed up from drinking and sleep. “I can’t believe it, but it actually is. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure, Dean.” 

After a few quiet minutes enjoying the feeling of Cas’s hands on him, Dean asks, “Did your brother really agree to let me train with the guard?” 

Cas glances up under sooty lashes. “Yes, he did. You understood that?” 

“I’ve been picking up a few words here and there. I obviously didn’t understand everything.” 

“What else did you understand?” 

“Something about the British Navy. I couldn’t piece enough together, though.” 

“They wrote to the crown prince on your behalf. They know you are here and requested your release when your sentence has been served.” 

As he delivered that news, he slid his thumb deep into the arch of Dean’s foot, earning him a particularly deep groan. Cas waited to see what Dean would do with that knowledge. He was happy for Dean, honestly, or he wouldn’t have essentially committed treason to set things in motion. However, the expiration date on their time together had now been set. 

With a furrowed brow, Dean commented, “Remind me to never play cards with you, Castiel. Your face gives nothing away. Damn.” 

They meet eyes and Cas adds, “What would you like to know?” 

“Everything? Let’s start with how long my sentence is.” 

“Nine months longer. That will put it at a year total. I argued to reduce the sentence, but Alex wouldn’t budge.” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Cas?” Dean teases. He isn’t prepared for the hurt on the prince’s face. 

“No, quite the contrary.” 

“Then why did you let them know where I was?” 

Cas’s eyes meet his quickly. There is a brief show of fear, but it is pushed down immediately. Cas is a master of masking his emotions, but Dean is starting to see his minute tells. 

“Why would you think I had anything to do with it?” 

“Because you are the only one who would have, my prince.” 

Cas drops his eyes and concentrates a little too hard on the ball of Dean’s foot. Dean lets it go, but he is appreciative that Cas has stuck his neck out for him once again. 

“What made Alex agree to let me work with the guard? Do I have you to thank for that, too?” 

Cas clears his throat and comments, “I may have mentioned that our complacent castle guards could benefit from the fighting and training skills a veteran soldier could provide.” 

Dean laughs outright and shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?” 

Cas shrugs and continues his massage. He moves to the inner ankle area, concentrating on the areas under the ankle bone and just behind it. Dean’s breathing deepens and his posture slouches. 

“Fuck, how does that feel so good?” 

Dean catches the evil gleam in the prince’s eyes. “I’m relieving...tension.” 

“Tension?” 

“Yes, tension.” 

Cas leans in to the next spot and Dean feels the effects run all the way up to his groin. He tips his head back and curses. His hands curl into the chair arms. 

“Cas, you have to stop,” he says breathily. 

“Do you really want me to stop, or do you think you should want me to?” 

“Both. Neither. I don’t know. It’s getting me hard, though.” 

“Yes, probably. You’re quite blocked.” 

“Cas, how? Why are you-” 

Dean is getting worked up enough to lose speech. Cas answers him somewhat honestly. 

“How? Reflexology. The nerve endings in your feet map to all your major body parts. The toes are your brain, which is why that helped alleviate that nasty headache.” 

He slides his thumb and index finger down under the toes and rubs toward the center. Keeping his voice soft, he shows him more. “This is your neck, your diaphragm, and your solar plexus.” 

He brings both feet into his lap and sits closer to Dean. “All of that feels really good, doesn’t it?” 

“Mhmmm,” Dean agrees. 

“But this area is your sexual organs, specifically your prostate,” he says seductively and presses into a little tender spot on both feet. “You are so tense and knotted here.” 

Cas watches Dean gasp and then loosen even more. His silk pants are tented obscenely, but he is too deep in his arousal to be embarrassed by it. 

“Why?” Dean is looking at him, confused but lust-filled eyes. 

“I promise this wasn’t my original intention, Dean. I just wanted to make you feel better.” 

Dean huffs out a little pant and squeezes his legs together to shift the ache. 

“But you are so fucking responsive, ingerul meu. I lose myself too easily in giving you pleasure.” 

A guttural sound rumbles from Dean as he palms himself. His dick bobs up into his hand. Feet are not sexy. He can’t even remember if anyone has ever touched his feet before. This is insane, and yet his head is spinning from the need to grab and tug on his errant dick. If he didn’t have an audience, that is exactly what he would do. 

Dean is pleading with his eyes, but he can’t make words form. He wants to pull his feet from Cas’s hold. He wants to straddle him and grind in his lap. He is bewildered and looking for an anchor. 

Cas tilts his head and asks simply, “Do you want me to tell you what to do, Dean?” 

Damn, that idea lights up every pleasure center in Dean’s body. He nods frantically, intense focus on the man in front of him. He is only vaguely aware what he is agreeing to. He doesn’t care. He suddenly wants this more than breath. 

That hum of approval. Fuck. Dean savors that sound. He waits for instruction, tingling in anticipation. 

“Rub your fingertips over your stomach with your left hand.” 

Dean complies with stuttering movements. Once he touches, confidence slowly returns. He lifts the edge of his shirt as his fingers caress the skin there. He pushes it up farther, on the next pass, letting little glimpses of his firm abs show. He sees the flickering desire on Cas’s face when he licks his lips. Dean’s glad that he isn’t the only one affected. 

“Now, find the edges of your cock with your other hand. Softly. Just barely touch.” 

Dean does as he says, loving the freedom of listening and not thinking. He can sink into the feeling and be completely present. Cas lets him settle into the barely there strokes. 

“I don’t want to rush this, but I can’t wait to see you unwrap that lovely cock, Dean. My mouth is watering just imagining it.” 

Dean makes a tortured sound at Cas’s words. His eyes flick up to meet Cas’s. Cas gives a slight nod for him to proceed. “Slide your pants down under your ass, sweetheart. No farther.” 

When his cock pops free, both men breathe harshly; Dean in relief and Cas in craving. Cas bites his lip to stave off the urge to lick his lips. Dean was right. He isn’t small. His length is long and straight with a beautiful plump head. There’s a tiny glistening drop at the tip. Cas grabs Dean’s ankles, still in his lap, to keep his hands from reaching for the gorgeous man. 

“Absolutely stunning,” Cas breathes with an ache to his words. Dean preens at the praise. If he was alone, he would have started sliding his hand over his dick long before now. Cas hasn’t given him instruction, though, so he waits without touching. 

“Use your index finger and run it from your balls up to the very tip. Slow.” 

Dean does it exactly as he is told, arching into the touch. He licks his lips and locks his gaze with Cas. A little moan puffs out as he makes contact with that sensitive spot beneath the flared head. 

“Do it again, but imagine it’s my tongue, Dean. My mouth is on you, desperate for a taste.” 

“Fuck, Cas.” 

Dean can almost feel it. He shivers with the visual. Maybe he should ask for it? ‘No.’ he chastises himself. ‘Just enjoy this. Stop getting ahead of yourself.’ 

“Have you ever tasted yourself, Dean?” 

Heat rushes down from his scalp and over his face. His breathing picks up. Everything about this experience is taboo. He should be put off by the thought, but instead, it excites him. He shakes his head. 

Cas hums that sound that prickles at the back of Dean’s neck. “Swipe your thumb over that precious little pearl.” 

Dean complies and waits. 

“Bring it to your mouth.” 

“Suck on it.” The command comes harsh. Dean keeps his eyes on Cas as he sucks his thumb between his lips. 

“How do you taste?” 

“Bitter. Salty.” 

Cas quirks a lop-sided grin with hooded eyes. “I bet you’re delicious.” 

“Cas,” Dean pleads. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Grab your beautiful cock and stroke it the way you like best. I want to see what pleases you.” 

Once he has built a nice rhythm, he begins to feel self-conscious. “Aren’t you going to join me, my prince.” 

“That is so incredibly tempting, Dean. You have no idea how hard it is for me to sit here and not touch. But I find I want to watch you more than I want to fuck my hand. I have wanted to see you come apart for months now. I don’t want to miss a second.” 

Every word from Cas is throwing fuel on the fire. He is getting more of a thrill from listening to this man than actually touching himself. Feeling those intense eyes devouring him is pushing him towards release faster than he felt possible. “Will you let me watch you, too?” 

“When you are ready, Dean, I will give you everything. Say the word, and there isn’t a thing I would deny you.” 

“Cas,” he moans. “Shit, this isn’t going to take long.” 

“No? Are you getting close, baby?” Dean nods as he pants, letting his hips arch into the movement. 

“Change up your strokes. One long slow squeeze and then a few fast light strokes. That’s it.” 

Cas soaks up every sound, every muscle twitch, every movement in his face. He can hardly believe that he gets to witness this beauty. Dean is breathtaking. Better than his fantasies. He is so much freer in his pleasure than he would have thought. His expressive face is twisted in the ecstatic agony of almost. He is reaching, but not quite there. 

“Fuck, Dean. Look at you. Never seen anything that I wanted more. So gorgeous.” Cas is babbling praise while his pulse pounds. He wants this man so much that it hurts to keep watching. Even so, he won’t be denied his release. Not for all the power and wealth of his title. Nothing could make him look away. 

“Cas, god. I’m gonna-” Dean’s eyes close to focus on his release. 

“No, Dean. Open your eyes. Keep your eyes on me.” 

A whine, an actual whine erupts from his lips. 

“Rub your thumb over the head when you come up. Perfect.” 

“Cas, please,” Dean begs, high and breathy. “Please, baby.” 

Cas’s heart squeezes. Hearing that fucked out voice begging for release. Goddamn. His head is swimming and his hands tremble. 

Cas puts all of his need and control into his voice since he can’t use his hands. “Dean, I see you shaking. You’re ready. Give it to me, sweetheart. Come for me.” 

That command snaps the last of his strings. His body locks up with a shout as his release bubbles up over his hand. He freezes in the moment, and then slowly strokes himself through the receding waves of his orgasm. His eyes open, glassy and unfocused. His face is flushed and sweaty, making those sweet freckles stand out across his nose. Cas is awestruck. He’s pretty sure his mouth is hanging open. He couldn’t care less. 

Dean gives him a dopey grin. “That was...I don’t have words. I think you melted my brain, Cas.” 

Cas grins back at him. He knows the feeling. 

Dean leans his head against the chair, contemplating the prince. “Are you going to make me ask?” 

“Ask what, Dean?” 

Earnestly, sweetly, he asks, “Will you kiss me?” 

Cas has never moved so quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	12. A Finger Grip on a Cliffside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean are both struggling with their not-quite relationship. They make some impetuous and ill-advised choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to be a rough one for the boys. Remember that a story is only as good as its conflict, so we must have conflict in order to fix it.
> 
> Romanian:
> 
> Crăciun fericit, prințul meu = Merry Christmas, my prince.
> 
> Chapter title is from "Variations on the Word Love" by Margaret Atwood.

Quartermaster Samuel Winchester looks out over the field of debris in the Black Sea. Just north of the seaport of Sinope, the Turkish Navy has very recently suffered a devastating blow by the Russian Black Sea Forces. Thousands of men were lost, along with almost their entire fleet of ships, in the shocking defeat. No one had anticipated that the Russians would be much of a concern against the experienced Turkish force, and now they were all paying for that arrogance. 

The HMS Agamemnon, the ship the Winchester brothers serve on, echoes with gruesome bumping and sliding along its hull. Like tiptoeing through cadavers, they push the remains of the other ships out of their way as they pass. The sickening sounds remind the sailors of their mortality, and the deck is silent in its distress. 

Sam feels sympathy for the lost men, but right now he can only think of one man who is thankfully no longer lost. The rear admiral had brought him long-awaited news of his brother, Dean, just a few days ago. They received a highly unusual letter from a Wallachian prince, informing them that Dean was at the Castle Peleş, He looks forward to hearing how his brother came to be several days journey away from where they last saw him. When they heard of Dean’s safety, Sam had been overjoyed and easily approved of the diplomatic plan to leave Dean to serve his pittance of a sentence and not rile up their allies. 

Now though, everything is changing. The Russians control the Black Sea, and their pattern of aggression shows that they will expand their reach to its shores soon. Wallachia and Moldavia are particularly strong targets for them. Sam is not comfortable leaving Dean in a country that could be overrun by their enemy, essentially cutting off any access to him. No, it is time to bring his brother home. 

 

***** 

 

His skin prickles with anticipation. Christmas morning has always felt magical, a day out of time when the world holds its breath. Families spend time reminiscing, laughing, and basking in the simple joy of being together. This Christmas, while he might not be at home with his family, he is with new friends that are coming to be a strange little family of their own. 

Meg and Alina have been letting him sit in the kitchens and sneak treats while they work and gossip. Both of the women are so charmed by him that they spoil him rotten. Meg has been making fruit tarts every day just for the brilliant smile she receives when she hands one to him. 

The castle guards, while reticent at first, have welcomed him into their ranks as well. The first day that he began training with them was the day that they heard the tragic news about the Battle at Sinope. The guards wanted to take the rest of the day off, but Dean would have none of it. He stormed off to retrieve Marius to interpret for him, and then tore into the guards. 

“The way to honor the fallen is to work harder, do more, be better,” he had insisted. “Sitting on your ass feeling badly is not honorable, it is self-indulgent. You owe your sacrifice of sweat to them, and you will offer it up now!” 

Even after the rousing speech that convinced them to stay, it wasn’t until he challenged every man to hand to hand combat that their attitudes began to shift. One by one, they tried their hands at besting him. They all fell and fell hard. Dean might have made enemies out of them if they hadn’t gotten so much amusement out of screaming taunts at their fellow guards who were taking their turn. They had all been amazed at the fighting style of the British soldier. He used techniques they had never seen, was calculating and patient while he learned his opponent’s weaknesses, and then struck like a cobra. After the first few wins, word spread throughout the castle. By the time Dean had summarily beaten a dozen guards, half of the staff was watching. 

Dean had felt the moment that Castiel joined them. Instinctively, goosebumps rose on his skin and a shiver rolled down his spine. The prince’s eyes were a heavy weight despite their distance. He couldn’t help but show off for him. He told the guard he was fighting, Matei, to pick up a weapon. Once he had a firm grip on a short sword, Dean signaled for him to attack. Faster than anyone could possibly follow, Dean disarmed him, had him on the ground, and completely incapacitated him. His audience gasped at the impressive display. Only then did he look up to see Cas on the balcony. A satisfied smile settled on his lips and he preened at the look on Cas’s face. It was all possessive heat, urgent and necessary. He could see his white-knuckled grip on the ledge, his heaving chest. ‘Damn, baby. I love seeing how much you want me.’ 

All around him, guards were offering congratulatory smiles, slaps on the back, and rapid words in Romanian. His only concern, the only trophy he desired, was the simple nod of acknowledgement from his prince. 

 

***** 

 

Dean can’t wait any longer for Cas to wake up. He burrows under the heavy weight of the blankets. The trapped heat swallows him and he sighs. He can find Cas without his eyes, chases the sultry warmth to its source. Feathery ink tickles his nose as he tucks himself behind his back. When Cas stirs, he smiles into his neck. 

“Crăciun fericit, prințul meu” Dean whispers. 

Cas’s heart expands with joy. “Crăciun fericit, Dean.” 

He turns his body to face his bed mate. “You’re learning Romanian very quickly. You must be studying with others.” 

“I am. That’s okay with you, right?” 

Cas scowls at him. “Of course it is. Am I that unreasonable that you think I would keep you locked away from other people?” 

“I hate to remind you, Cas, but you did lock me away in here away from everyone else.” 

‘Oh, damn,’ Dean thinks. ‘He did not like that comment one little bit.’ 

Cas’s expression goes tight with guilt. “That was my brother’s doing. You have to know none of that was my choice.” 

Dean soothes, “I know. I know it wasn’t you.” 

“Do you still think so poorly of me?” 

“No, quite the opposite. Have I not made it abundantly clear how I feel about you?” 

Dean is teasing, but Cas tackles the question in earnest. He tilts his head on the pillow that they are sharing. It shouldn’t be cute, but it makes Dean smile. Cas slides a warm hand to the side of Dean’s face in a tender caress. His eyes close as he leans in. He takes immense comfort in this man’s presence. 

“No, Dean. I’m still so damned unsure where you’re concerned.” 

Dean contemplates and returns the honesty. “First of all, I just meant that you must know that I am very fond of you. But I know that you have questions.” 

Dean trails light fingers down Cas’s arm as he talks. “I wish I could just overcome my fears and be what you want, Cas. I really do.” 

Cas appreciates his candor, but he is mistaken. “Dean, you are what I want. I want you exactly as you are.” 

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but we both know that isn’t entirely true.” 

They have been dancing around this almost, but not quite, relationship for weeks. Cas has been patiently waiting for Dean to give him word: Yes, No, Fuck off...Something. Dean has come close to giving himself over to the other man multiple times. Whenever he is in Cas’s orbit, it is so incredibly easy. Looking into those deep blue eyes, his mind screams, ‘Yes! Yes, he is what I want.’ When he feels Cas touch him, even in the most platonic way, all indecision melts away. 

But then he steps outside of the perfumed bubble of his chambers, and trepidation creeps in to fill in his cracks. Cracks where his upbringing is at odds with his feelings. Cracks where he imagines his father and brother looking at him in disgust. Cracks where he is unsure if he can publicly acknowledge wanting a man. 

“Are you only opposed to being with a man in general, or is it me specifically?” 

The vulnerability in Cas’s voice breaks something in Dean. “Oh, Cas. My only, and I mean only, hesitation is that I don’t know if I can commit to being with a man. I told you that you are the only man I’ve ever been attracted to. That was the absolute truth. I just-” 

“Just what?” 

“I just don’t know if I could go through with it. I don’t know if I could let myself have a relationship that could get me killed in my own country, that would disgrace my family.” 

Cas swallows hard. The word insurmountable floats to the forefront of his thoughts. In some way, he’s known all of this, but hearing the words out loud, being confirmed by Dean’s own voice, stings like a long, slow, deep cut. He’d felt that they were making incredible progress. They have become close friends, and Dean most certainly wants his body. Cas conveniently forgot that the real issue is a huge philosophical and moral divide between them. Cas has never felt such utter hopelessness. 

“Give me time, Cas? Please?” 

Cas sits up, needing the slight distance it provides. “I asked you to be certain, Dean. That has not changed. Do not agree to anything you are unsure of. It would only hurt both of us.” 

Dean sits up behind him and leans his head against the prince’s shoulder. “We really killed the festive mood, didn’t we?” 

Cas steels himself and pushes down the painful insecurities. This will be their only Christmas together. He will not let it be ruined by wistful wishes of what could have been. 

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” He pats the side of Dean’s leg and gets out of bed. “Would you like to go see your present?” 

Dean’s eyes light up. Cas has spent the past three weeks doting on him and giving him both extravagant and thoughtful gifts. Dean had spent over ten years living in the sparse conditions afforded by either the ground, barracks, or ship berths. He had never believed that he was a man who could get used to luxury. Cas was quickly proving otherwise. 

At first, Dean had argued with him over every new gift. He didn’t want the prince to think that he was interested in him because of his title and what it could provide for him. Dean knew that titles came with responsibilities and money came with strings attached. For a man like Castiel, expensive things were easy. 

What had really inspired his compliance were the gifts of Cas’s time and attention; gifts that showed he paid attention to Dean. Two days ago, for instance, Dean had returned to their chambers tired and in a foul mood after a frustrating training session. One look at him, and Cas seemed to know exactly what he needed. The prince had begged out of a party he was supposed to host, had dinner brought up to the observatory, and hand fed him. When they were full, Cas read to him from a raunchy comedy while stroking his fingers through Dean’s hair. By the time they retired for the evening, Dean was full and content, forgetting his earlier mood. 

“Cas, I thought we discussed this already,” Dean scolds. “You’ve given me enough.” 

Cas laughs as if that was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. “It’s Christmas, Dean. Surely you didn’t think I would comply with that ridiculous request.” 

As Dean is dressing for the day, he waits until he is turned away before giving in to the eye roll. 

“Don’t think I don’t know when you’re being a brat, draga meu.” Cas’s voice holds a firm command in it that makes Dean shiver. 

As Dean pulls the shirt over his head, he flirts back, “You like it when I’m a brat, Cas.” 

Cas suddenly crowds in behind him, pushing Dean into the dresser. Before he can respond, Cas has both of his wrists in a firm grip and his voice rumbles in Dean’s ear. “No, Dean. I tolerate your petulance because it is a challenge. What I like is obedience. What I love is enthusiastic obedience.” 

Dean’s head is spinning at those provocative words, at the swiftness of the correction. Cas steps back almost as fast and slaps Dean’s ass playfully. “Hurry up and meet me in the stables.” 

Dean takes a few moments after the door shuts behind Cas to breathe deeply. “Son of a bitch,” he laughs. 

He is willing his hard dick into submission, thinking about the vilest things he can dream up to help him. He knows that Cas is keeping himself in check, that he doesn’t let Dean see his sexual side very often. His iron control stays in place to avoid making Dean uncomfortable. He appreciates it, he really does. He fears he would have been seduced a long time ago otherwise. Every once in a while, though, Dean gets a glimpse of Cas unrestrained, like this display of dominance. He once likened Cas to a tempest. He doesn’t think he’s far off in his estimation. 

 

***** 

 

Dean walks into the stables to see several stall doors open and Cas standing in the center. “You need a horse,” he says simply. 

“Okay. Which one would you like me to saddle?” 

“I want you to choose one.” 

Dean stares in confusion. Usually the horses are ready and waiting for them when they go for a ride, but he understands why the stables aren’t properly staffed today. 

“I’ll ride whichever one you want, Cas. I’m not picky. Which one does Războinic like to run with?” 

“He is spoiled, but he will be content with whichever one you choose. The horse is for you, Dean. I want you to have the one you want.” 

Cas sees when he finally comprehends. Dean’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops in surprise. “That’s too much, Cas. Every horse in this stable is champion stock.” 

“Of course they are,” he says indignantly. “I wouldn’t give you an old nag, Dean.” 

Cas steps closer and catches Dean’s hand. “I think I already know which one you want, you know. I’ve seen the way you look at her.” 

Dean’s eyes cut to the stall directly across from him. Cas smiles. He knew it. “She is yours if you want her.” 

Dean beams at him and walks into her stall slowly, cooing at the beautiful animal. She leans into his hand when he rubs her velvety nose. Dean has ridden her a few times, and from the beginning, Cas noticed a connection. She is a sleek black Kalmyk, agile and fast. Dean is speaking to her gently, telling her how much fun they will have together. 

“What is her name?” Dean asks. 

“She hasn’t been named yet. We have only had her a short time and she didn’t belong to anyone. What would you like to name her?” 

“What is the word for baby in Romanian?” 

“Fetiță.” 

“Hello, Fetiță,” Dean coos at her with a brilliant smile. 

“Would you like to take her for a ride? I have some family obligations for a few hours, so I can’t join you, but you are more than welcome to go enjoy the day.” 

Dean pulls Cas in for a long embrace. “Thank you, Cas. She is gorgeous. I will take such good care of her.” 

Cas enjoys the closeness, shoring up his defenses for dealing with his family. “I know you will. Have fun.” 

“When will you be done with your family?” 

“Early afternoon. I thought we could play some chess before dinner?” 

“That sounds perfect.” 

He pulls away, but Dean reels him back in with a hungry look in his eyes. “I’ll miss you.” 

“I can’t believe you aren’t sick to death of me yet,” Cas teases, but takes the opportunity to kiss Dean. 

Their mouths meet softly, but Dean wants more. Every taste of him feels like not enough. He holds the prince’s hips close, denying any distance he tries to put between them. Cas goes willingly, turning the goodbye kiss into something with teeth. Their boiling point gets lower and lower as they continue to circle each other in this unending limbo. He has never believed in the idea of spontaneous combustion, but then again, he’s never kissed Dean until recently. 

Caught up in the moment, they don’t hear the guard approach until he clears his throat and offers an apology. Dean leaps away from him guiltily, clearly embarrassed and refusing to meet Cas’s eye. The prince is not at all happy about the reaction, but excuses himself when the guard gives him his message. 

Dean isn’t sure what to say to Grigore, if anything at all. He is discomfited by the thought that this man saw him and Cas together in an intimate moment. Dean isn’t sure why he didn’t think through that obvious repercussion of having a relationship with Cas. It seems so obvious now and he can't stop thinking about it. The castle is run by a team of servants. Every part of Castiel’s day is handled by others. Of course people would catch them kissing, and probably worse. That has Dean’s stomach roiling as his face blanches. Everyone in the castle would know, and because of his title, so would the entire country. 

The dark-haired man looks like he is enjoying Dean’s discomfort a little too much. “Good kisser, no?” 

Dean blinks back shock at hearing the man speak French and insinuating that he has personal experience with Cas. “Excuse me?” 

“The prince is very skilled, but so fickle. Be careful not to get too attached.” 

“You-You had a relationship with Castiel?” Dean’s throat seizes on the sour words. 

Grigore scoffs and lights a pipe. “No. Not a relationship. He invited me into his bed with some others. It was very...athletic. Highly memorable.” 

Temptation to beat the man for the sleazy innuendo runs through Dean and he feels his hands curl into fists. His first thoughts are always to protect his prince. Worries of another sort bombard him. How many people in the castle have had sex with Castiel? He knows of at least six. Is it a rite of passage for guests of Castle Peleş? He knows that last thought is unfair, but panic is tickling at his nerve endings and he needs to go clear his head. 

To save face, he gives the guard a tight smile and banters back, “Cas is free to do what he wants. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get my girl ready for a ride.” 

 

***** 

 

Yet again, Castiel is waiting for Dean. The man has been cagey and out of sorts all week. Cas has tried to talk to him multiple times, but he has repeatedly assured him that nothing is wrong. ‘Nothing wrong, my ass,’ Cas huffs. Something has the man spooked, and Cas wants to have a chance to weigh in. He can’t fix problems that he doesn’t know about, and this freeze out has him on edge. 

It is New Year’s Eve, and while he would like nothing more than to celebrate with Dean, he has obligations to spend it with his family hosting a party for an Austrian duke and his ridiculously large entourage. Who needs over forty people traveling with them? Castiel is a prince and yet he rarely travels with more than a few close friends. 

Cas resumes pacing in front of the barracks. Dean was asleep before him last night, he was gone before he woke this morning, and he hasn’t been seen all day in the castle. He knows that he is being avoided, but he doesn’t want to go into the new year at odds with the man he wants to spend it with. He hears the raucous noise of the guards returning home after a long day. Dean is among them, laughing and speaking stilted Romanian. As soon as he sees Cas waiting, his face falls. It hurts more than he should let it, but he has already opened his heart to this man, and there’s no way to push him out. 

Taking a risk, Castiel speaks to him in English. “Do you have a minute for me?” 

Dean is surprised, but just nods and lets Cas lead him a safe distance into the courtyard. 

“Dean, I don’t know what I’ve done to-” 

“You haven’t done anything, Cas. Everything is-” 

“Fine. Yes, so you keep saying.” 

They stare at each other. Puzzle pieces that used to fit together so smoothly. 

“We agreed that no matter what happens, we would be honest with each other, so here is my honesty, Dean. Something happened between Christmas morning and now. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready to work through it, but I’m through dancing around the subject. I don’t know what happened because you won’t tell me. If I have done something wrong, tell me. If you decided that you can’t pursue a romantic relationship, tell me. Just...fucking talk to me. Please?” 

Dean is aware that pushing Cas away is unfair, but he has needed the space. Having this discussion in the middle of the courtyard is the worst place they could do it. It echoes and there are plenty of places that people could hide and listen in. 

“You’re right, we need to talk, but not here. I’ll come up to your rooms later.” 

Cas didn’t miss that they are suddenly Cas’s rooms again. Dean has stopped referring to them as theirs. Warning flags are everywhere. 

Cas is annoyed now. “Dean, I’m on my way to a state dinner. Why do you think I’m dressed like this?” 

Dean is usually exceptionally observant, but he really didn’t notice the formal military uniform that Cas never wears unless forced, practically at gunpoint. 

“I will be there most of the evening. We talked about the schedule yesterday.” 

Dean sighs. “I’m sorry. I forgot. Can we talk tomorrow?” 

“I really hate the idea of going into the new year with things so unresolved, don’t you? How about if I beg off the party early and we can at least spend midnight together?” 

Dean is shaking his head before his sentence is complete. “I’m celebrating with the guard tonight. I had planned to stay in the barracks.” 

Cas is rapidly reaching the end of his patience. “Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

In a last effort to make a positive end to this shit conversation, he adds, “Since I won’t see you, have a Happy New Year, Dean.” 

He receives a tight smile in return. “Happy New Year, Cas.” 

When he leans in to kiss Dean’s cheek, he is abruptly shoved away. Shock is on both of their faces. Dean didn’t mean to react so harshly, but he panicked. “I-I’m sorry, Castiel. I’m not comfortable with showing affection in public.” 

‘And now we are back to Castiel.’ The prince realizes that Dean is slipping away. He has probably already decided that he doesn’t want to move forward with their relationship. Letting himself truly believe what he has been worried about for days doesn’t set him free. He feels despair like an anchor drag him under. With sorrow in his eyes, and without another word, he leaves. 

Dean watches him leave, his stomach knotting. He is terrified of his feelings for Castiel, but his heart drops at the sadness on the man’s face. He isn’t ready to give up. Tomorrow he will explain himself. He will ask Cas to keep being patient with him. 

 

***** 

 

After the humiliating public rebuff of his affection, Castiel decides to get properly drunk and forget most of the dreary night. He receives pointedly nasty glares from Michael throughout dinner. Cas doesn’t have a fuck to give. 

Well into his second bottle of wine, he catches the eye of the duke’s young chamberlain. The man watches him openly with lust in his eyes. He has almost forgotten how delicious flirtation can be. It’s been so long since he felt the interest of someone new. It is so flattering that he lets it go on for far too long. When the man gets drunk enough to boldly proposition Castiel, he decides that it would be best for all involved if he retires. 

As he undresses in his chambers, he can’t fathom why he is still waiting for a man who clearly doesn’t want him. After their altercation in the courtyard, he feels no closer to having Dean than he was when he arrived. It is quite probable that it was not meant to be. “What a happy revelation,” he groans. 

He has been celibate for weeks, trying to be what Dean wants. He hasn’t pushed him, instead, he has let Dean take the lead. Other than the spectacular masturbation that Dean let him watch, they have kept their interactions limited to their lips. Don’t get him wrong. Dean’s lips are heavenly and he would choose five minutes with them over hours at an orgy. 

His body is humming with wine and liquor. He looks around and realizes that he is truly alone. He sits back on the chair and palms his cock. It’s soft, but perks in interest. He’s been so careful to avoid making Dean deal with his sexuality that he can’t even remember the last time he touched himself. 

Before he can really even get a good rhythm going, there is a knock on the door. Castiel’s poor lovesick heart immediately thinks that Dean might have changed his mind and come back early. He curses the naive broken thing. Dean lives here. He would walk in, not knock. 

He finds the young chamberlain on the other side of the door. “Did you get lost?” he teases. 

“No, I-. I was worried. You left rather abruptly, so I asked to look in on you.” 

“Who did you ask? It certainly wasn’t me.” 

Castiel knows he is being an asshole, but he thinks leaving the party was a fairly clear sign that he isn’t interested. He doesn’t appreciate being trailed to his bedroom. 

“No, the crown prince seemed grateful that I volunteered.” 

“I’ll bet he did,” Cas scoffs. Alex dislikes his relationship with Dean. He’s sure to be smug about its failure for ages. Yet another lovely thing to look forward to. 

“May I come in and keep you company?” 

“Can I be honest with you?” Cas asks and props himself on the door frame. 

“Of course, my prince.” 

The term of endearment rankles on anyone else’s lips. “Castiel, please.” 

“Of course, Castiel.” The man looks happy with being given permission to use his name. 

“I am pining for someone. We are at odds with each other right now, but I have no interest in anyone else.” 

The man leans in closer. “Thank you for that refreshing bit of truth. I’ll return the favor. I don’t want anything more than sex. Your reputation proceeds you, and I would be an idiot not to make an attempt to bed you during our stay.” 

Castiel is flattered. Maybe? It might be horrifying. He ponders the offer, his loneliness, and his breaking heart. He stands back with a smirk and ushers the man into his chambers. 

 

***** 

 

Dean is not feeling up to the festivities. He is close to sober compared the rest of the guards who are not actually on duty. He has caught a few jokes about not being with his boyfriend, but for the most part, his association with the prince is not mentioned among them. 

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Dean?” Ion asks when he flops next to him. 

“I had a rough day. Having a difficult time letting it go.” 

The burly man slaps him on the shoulder and asks, “Anything I can help with?” 

Dean smiles at him. “No, it’s just a little royal trouble.” 

“You are upset with the prince?” 

When Dean doesn’t answer, he continues, “Dean, let me give you advice. I grew up in the castle. I have known Castiel since we played together in the gardens. The man has never treated anyone the way he treats you.” 

“And how does he treat me?” 

“Like you are his most prized treasure.” 

Dean blushes furiously. 

“You are a good match. I think you make sense. He is too smart for the rest of them. He needs a challenge.” 

He clears his throat. He might as well take advantage of Ion’s loose tongue. “You don’t think it’s-” 

“What?” 

“Wrong?” 

Ion laughs. He belly laughs. “Love is never wrong, Dean.” 

Dean is gob smacked. Could it really be that easy? Ion stands and shuffles away. 

What does he really want? If he doesn’t let himself think about what anyone else tells him is right or wrong? 

His heart feels lighter than it has in weeks. He wants to be with Cas. 

 

***** 

 

Cas is interested, until they reach the bed. Seeing the pillows that still hold their shape from the head that laid on them that morning makes him ill Even with a willing partner practically humping his leg, he only wants Dean. 

He feels the kisses on his lips, but they are shaped wrong. He has felt Dean’s lips, and he knows their shape, their plump fullness. He feels the grasping hands, but they are too small. Too weak. They are not the hands of his warrior. He sees the ocean of naked flesh riding him, but the color is too pale, the chest is too narrow; there are no lovely freckles. Cas wants Dean so desperately that he looks to his side of the bed. He slides his fingers toward where his body should be, where he should feel the immense heat of his body. His hands shake with the need to touch the man he is falling for, but he is not here. 

Cas remembers that he has his cock in someone’s ass when the young man’s ecstatic cries echo throughout the room. Immediately after, the curtains open violently. Shit. 

Dean stands immobile, shock warring with disbelief. As soon as he comprehends what is going on, he gives Cas the most tortured look he has ever seen. It spikes Cas’s heart into palpitations. This can’t be happening. 

Dean staggers back from the bed, tripping in his haste to reach the furthest corner of the room; he would rather leap through the window than witness Cas taking his pleasure from someone else. He rests against the wall, holding his head together so it doesn’t explode, swallowing deeply to keep the sob from escaping his throat. 

He leaves for one night and Cas is fucking someone else? Why? They said they would talk in the morning. Was he just a conquest and Cas got tired of waiting? How could Cas be so cruel? 

Cas tries to follow, only to be stopped by the man in his lap who he hasn’t thought about since the moment Dean’s eyes were on him. The young man teasingly pushes him back down, which raises Cas’s ire. As he shoves hard, he hisses, “Get off of me. Leave.” 

He follows Dean, ready to beg and grovel. Dean can hear his approach and seizes up. He slides the mask onto his face and turns with malice flickering in his eyes. 

Cas is shocked enough by the look to stop moving. “Dean, I’m so sorry. Please let me explain.” 

Dean’s eyes widen for a moment, then a scornful laugh bubbles up unbidden. “I understand how fucking works, Castiel. There is nothing to explain.” 

The other man quickly and quietly leaves the room while Dean glares at him. He will never forget that face. 

Dean thought that he meant something to Castiel, that they shared a camaraderie he had never felt with anyone else. Honestly, he had begun to feel love for the man staring at him. He is such a fool. 

A tear escapes and rolls down his cheek, but he makes no move to hide it. 

“Oh god, Dean,” Cas cries when he sees it. He steps forward, wanting to comfort, soothe. In response, Dean snaps his shoulders up, raises his chin, and becomes a wall of unyielding strength. 

“Don’t you dare touch me,” he growls. “Never again.” 

The rancorous promise shreds the prince’s ears. He chokes on a sob and puts his hands to his face. “Dean, I thought you had given up. I was so upset and I made a stupid decision.” He shakes his head and looks around, trying to trace the path that led them here. 

“Stupid decision? You fucked someone else! You brought someone into our-” Dean cuts himself off harshly before he can complete the foolish thought. Outwardly, his hands slide into his hair, pulling on the short lengths to displace the violence boiling in his blood. He knows that he has already said too much. 

“Our? Our what, Dean?” Leave it to Castiel to find the most incriminating word and latch onto it. 

Dean lets his hands fall to his side. Resignation and disgust season his words as he shoves past Castiel. “Nothing. Forget it. It was my mistake.” 

Castiel stands in abject horror while Dean starts cramming essentials into his pack. 

The only word that could have made sense to complete Dean’s sentence was “bed”. 

Our. Bed. 

Our bed. He thought of it as theirs. Their private space. A vice grip tightens around Castiel’s heart. Oh shit. This mistake is so much worse than he had thought. 

“Were you going to say our b-” 

“Don’t.” The snarled warning comes swift and sharp. 

“Dean, please,” he pleads through tears. 

“Castiel, leave it alone. We’re through.” 

“Don’t say that. Please talk to me,” Cas begs. He is greeted by ominous silence. Dean is done talking. Dean is done with Castiel. 

Without turning around, Dean leaves the room, slamming the door in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Sorry. 
> 
>  
> 
> You've read the tags, you know this isn't where it ends. 
> 
> I'm almost afraid to invite comments on this one...
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	13. Shell Smashed, Juices Flowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, trying to heal, Russians invading, and someone gets justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After leaving you with the angst cliffhanger last time, I wrote an extra long chapter. 
> 
> Chapter Title comes from "Let Down" by Radiohead
> 
> Romanian:
> 
> Pot să spun un cuvânt, înălțimea voastră - May I have a word, your highness?
> 
> desigur - Of course
> 
> Mă gândesc la tine - I'm thinking of you / I miss you
> 
>  
> 
> Historical inaccuracy: the phrase 'bite the bullet' isn't used until 1891, when Kipling used it, but it was apropos and close enough...

Dean realizes his error as soon as steps into the barracks. He is not fit company for anyone right now, but especially not a rowdy group of drunk men celebrating new beginnings. It stings too acutely. 

He asks the marshal for a bunk, and much of the celebrating around him stops. No one asks, and he doesn’t offer. He simply slides the pack off his shoulder and onto the thin mattress. It lands with a solid whump. Fitting. Dean doesn’t want to look up and see the condemnation. He steels himself, though, and raises his eyes. Instead, he sees sympathy, which is almost worse. He can’t stand the sad look on Ion’s face, so he looks away. He heads for the exit and mutters to the guard on duty that he is going for a dawn ride. Before he leaves, he catches one more look. Grigore wears a smug grin and winks at him. 

Dean busies himself with tacking his horse, letting his mind go blank as he completes the familiar steps. Fetiță looks a little sleepy, but as soon as he starts talking to her, she leans into him. He takes the comfort and returns it. His sweet girl is a balm to his wounds. 

He starts off at a canter, leading her towards a trail to the lake. She takes over when it becomes apparent where he wants to go. When he is far enough away from castle to be out of earshot, he lets out a gut-deep scream of frustration. The horse startles, but calms immediately. The same can’t be said for Dean. Once he cracks open the door to let out some of the despair battering at his mind and body, it all rushes out. He grips her thick mane and sobs. 

As much as it hurt to see Cas fucking someone, and god, did that burn him to ash, the debilitating loss he feels is for Cas. When he stormed out of his chambers, he wanted to lay all the blame at Cas’s feet, point at the prince’s infidelity as the sole cause for this rift. 

Dean has a boatload of faults, but hypocrisy is not among them. He is well aware of the part he played in severing their romance and friendship. He knows how patient, loving, and respectful Cas had been while Dean was trying to get over his shit. Dean repeatedly pulled him in when he felt bold and pushed him away when he was afraid. He toyed with Cas, whether it was intentional or not, so it really isn’t surprising that the man’s string snapped. 

Dean regrets not talking to Cas when he asked, no, pleaded. It was juvenile to hide himself away instead of biting the bullet and laying out his concerns. He knows that jealousy also played a part in closing himself off from Cas. Grigore’s comments at the stables had dug into deep-seated insecurities of not being enough for someone, only to be confirmed by Cas’s actions. 

Cleansed by his emotional purge, Dean continues on to the lake. He isn’t sure if they will be able to repair the damage done to their friendship, let alone anything else. He wants to. He doesn’t want to think about his life without Cas in it. His body aches, his heart shattered. 

 

***** 

 

Cas isn’t entirely sure whether the distraction of an impending attack by Russian troops is a bad thing. Of course it is, but it is the only thing keeping him on his feet, so he can give a nod to fate for choosing this moment to unleash a military coup. If he has a moment alone, he is quite sure he will break down and possibly not get up again. The pain of loss sits just under the surface, forcing him to take shallow breaths and avoid poking at the flimsy barrier. 

The Council Room is awash in voices, all believing themselves superior, either in power or intellect. It is exhausting, but he loses himself in the cacophony. Russian troop ships have been spotted off the coast heading in their direction. They are going to be attacked, soon, and they must decide how to appropriate their troops. The Ottoman Empire, after the tragic and humiliating defeat in the Black Sea, has taken a significant step away from its Danube Principalities, including Wallachia. In their moment of need, they are very much alone. 

Cas remains quiet while they plan and scheme until a decision is suggested that would spell disaster. He looks to the commander of their armed forces, waiting for him to weigh in on the issue, but he does not. Whether he is afraid to contradict the crown prince, or is simply missing the problem, Casneeds to intervene. 

“That is not sustainable.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

Every indignant face in the room is watching him now. He remains seated but explains calmly, “The coast is too far from any city. Supplies would take too long to be requested and delivered. You need to set up supply and troop outposts that can serve the entire coastal region.” 

Luke agrees with him immediately, but it takes a moment for the others to comment. Cas raises a brow and waits. They grudgingly concede his point. 

Cas returns his focus to the teacup he is holding, letting it warm his hands. He listens without comment until he hears another potential issue being glossed over. 

“You are putting too much emphasis on the coastline.” 

“Yes, Castiel. The threat is coming from the Black Sea, so that was the obvious choice.” 

There is a smattering of polite chuckles. Alex’s derisive tone grates on him. He is not in the mood for deference. He moves to stand across from his brother at the map table. 

“That isn’t the only path into the country.” 

“They won’t chance trekking through the Carpathian Mountains,” their military advisor dismisses. 

Castiel has had about enough of their pretensions. He picks up a figurine representing ground troops and slams it down on top of the city of Odessa. Without a word, he slides it down through Moldavia and into Wallachia without crossing a single mountain. 

He tilts his head to the side and waits. Their silence vindicates him. Surprisingly, it is Alex that admits his assessment of the situation is entirely correct. He catches proud looks from both Luke and Michael. Will wonders never cease? 

Castiel wishes that he could take full credit for the idea. It is actually Dean who has been teaching him to apply military tactics to the game of chess. As the rest of the room finalizes plans for troop movement, Cas loses himself in his memories. 

Their chess matches were always competitive and they often placed wagers on the outcome. On this occasion, Dean was mounting a highly visible attack that Cas was confident he could combat easily. Once he committed his queen to join the fray, Dean calmly announced, “Check mate.” 

Cas was distressed when Dean pointed out his error. “You were so focused on the obvious attack that I slid my rook behind your offense. Your king was defenseless.” 

Dean teased, “I bet you won’t do that again,” as he slid his feet into Cas’s lap. “Now start rubbing. My back is killing me.” 

 

***** 

 

Cas looks up from the book he is reading in the observatory. Luke has found him. This room is on the upper floor and tucked toward the back of the castle, so it is often empty. It has become his refuge of late. It harbors memories of Dean, but they are sweet, happy memories that bring him solace. 

“You’re a hard man to find, little brother.” 

“I haven’t felt up for company,” he admits. 

Luke glances around coyly. “Is it alright if I stay?” 

Cas sighs and says in jest, “I suppose.” 

Luke comes to sit beside him and scrutinizes him. “What’s going on with you, Cas? You’ve got me really worried.” 

He sets his book aside and looks down at his lap. He isn’t ready to talk about it, but for Luke he will. 

“I’m a little heartbroken, to be honest.” 

“Winchester?” 

His eyes water at hearing the name spoken out loud. Luke’s brows jump at his reaction. 

“That bad?” 

Cas just nods. He’s too choked up with emotion to get words out. 

“Did he hurt you?” His tone is barbed. 

Cas looks at his brother with appreciation. He clears his throat and tells him the abbreviated version of the story. “I really fucked up, Luke. I’ve lost him and I don’t know what to do.” Tears join his anguish, clearly visible on his face. 

“Oh, Cas.” Luke pulls him into a solid embrace. "When you do something, brother, you don't do it halfway." 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ve never been interested in having a relationship with anyone, and the first time you do, you fall in love.” 

Cas knows he is right. He’s known for a while. Why else would he be going through this metamorphosis? Why else would he be so patient and selfless with Dean, so willing to humble himself before the man? He can pinpoint the exact moment he lost his heart. It was the day of their first ride. Seeing Dean in the saddle with triumphant joy lighting his features. That was it. Castiel was lost. Every moment since has been gravity pulling him into the inexorable fall. 

 

***** 

 

Dean knows that Castiel will be attending the meeting where he and Matei are posted as guards, but it still takes his breath away when he arrives. He hasn’t seen the prince for over a week, but considering the state of emergency the country is in with the impending Russian attack, he’s been too busy to dwell on it. Until he lays down to sleep, that is. Then, his thoughts never stray from Cas. Living in barracks among dozens of men is not opportune circumstances in which to indulge in fantasies, so he lays awake trying to avoid memories of raven hair, glowing sapphires, and full pink lips. He squeezes his eyes shut against his sense memories. 

Cas is distracted as he enters the room, so he doesn’t notice Dean right away. When he does, he sucks in a breath like he’s been slapped. Their gazes lock on each other, both unwilling to look away. When the Russian ambassador enters the room, Matei pointedly clears his throat to get Dean’s attention. He looks away and that releases the hold on Castiel as well. He sits at the table and focuses on the reason that he is there. They have invited a delegation from Russia to meet with the royal family to discuss the possibility of avoiding war. He can’t afford to be distracted. 

When the Russians come in and are introduced around the table, Castiel stands and offers his own greeting in Russian. The show of respect impresses their guests, especially when he conducts the rest of the meeting in their native tongue and translates for the Wallachians. Dean watches the meeting, or rather, he watches Cas. He is mesmerized by him. The prince is in complete control, easily commanding the respect of every man in the room. He’s finding that while he has always been attracted to Cas physically, this side of him is equally compelling. 

No matter how resplendent he is here in his element, Cas is a shell of what he was. Gossip abounds around the castle. The staff is worried about him. Cas is not receiving visitors, works more than Michael, and hardly eats. He is sober and somber. Dean feels a desolate ache that he is the reason for these changes. 

 

***** 

 

From the large window in the Council Room, Cas has a perfect view into the training yard behind the barracks. He has been watching Dean spar with his kukri knife against another guard. Dean wields the large knife like it is an extension of his arm. He is fierce, determined, and utterly beautiful. Cas is so focused on the scene below that he doesn’t hear Michael when he comes in. 

“Castiel!” 

He looks up in surprise. “Sorry, Michael. Did you say something?” 

“Yes, actually. Have a seat, Castiel.” 

Cas watches his brother intently. “I’ve come to formally offer you a seat on the privy council.” 

He gapes a little in response. He isn’t often rendered speechless, but this is a surreal situation. “You...really?” 

“Yes, really. Your contributions to the Russian delegate meeting alone would have clinched a position as a diplomatic advisor, but you have also shown an aptitude for understanding military operations, and your knowledge of foreign languages is a great asset.” 

“I-I don’t know what to say.” 

“Say you’ll think about it?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

His brother smiles at him. Actually smiles. “You’ve changed.” 

“Yes, Michael.” 

“What is it?” 

Cas sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve stopped drinking and fucking myself into oblivion. It changes one’s perspective.” 

Michael rolls his eyes. “I know what you are doing differently, Castiel. What I am asking is why?” 

Cas glances back to the window. “I hurt someone because I was out of control, so I stopped.” 

“Is that why you’re so sad, brother?” 

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not sad to let go of vices. I’m sad that I lost him.” 

Michael nods his head in understanding. “Is he dead?” 

“What? No!” Cas is horrified by the thought. 

Michael leans over and pats his shoulder. “Then all is not lost, hmm?” 

“Maybe.” Cas goes back to the window, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Dean before he leaves the yard. Michael peeks out the window to follow Cas’s eyes. 

Cas is lost in thought again. 

“Share your burden?” 

He utters a joyless laugh, “I finally understand what people see in Shakespeare.” 

“Oh, are you composing sonnets to your love?” Michael teases. 

“No, thinking about Richard III actually. Do you remember Richard’s lines, ‘Now is the winter of our discontent...’” 

“Made glorious summer by this son of York...” 

“Yes,” Castiel sighs. “Dean is from York.” 

Michael laughs. “How apt.” 

“He turned this winter into glorious summer, and I’ve returned it to bitter winter.” 

Castiel takes in his brother that he has spent so long battling against. “I thought you didn’t approve of men having relations with other men?” 

Michael shakes his head. “No, little brother. I disapprove of sex without love.” 

They continue watching the guards practice and he asks, “Do you think you can fix it?” 

“I can only hope.” 

 

***** 

 

Dean has been staring at the letter for at least a quarter hour. He’s turned it over and over, end over end. He’s memorized the intricate wax seal with his eyes and his fingers. He swears that he can smell the earthy incense of Cas’s room. The writing outside is Romanian. He doesn’t know if the handwriting is his. He is affronted that there are things about the prince that he doesn’t know. He never learned all of Cas’s secrets. The writing blurs in front of him as he blinks away tears. 

‘Be a man!’ he chides himself. ‘Open the damn letter.’ 

He slips his index finger under the seal and hears it crack from the paper. He inhales a deep breath and opens it. His eyes drop to the end. He signed it Cas. He takes it as a good sign. The letter switches frequently among all three of their shared languages, probably to minimize damage if the letter was opened by anyone else. Dean feels a proud smile touch his face. Cas is clever. 

In the letter, which he begins formally, the prince apologizes to him. He says that he doesn’t want to explain himself in a letter, but understands that Dean probably wouldn’t want to see him. Now that they have had some time to settle their emotions, he asks for a chance to explain. He very clearly states that he is not asking for anything more. Just the chance to explain and apologize in person. He suggests that if he is amenable, Dean might write back and offer a convenient time. 

He goes on to say that if he chooses not to write back, he will respect Dean’s wishes and not bother him further. 

In the middle of the letter, written entirely in English, the wording is awkward. Dean realizes that it must be a code. It takes him several minutes to run through all of the code ciphers he knows. Finally, it dawns on him. The word immediately after every word ending with a ‘D’ is part of a message: Occupy Next Week Leave Now If You Can. 

Holy Shit. 

On instinct, he turns the letter over when a guard walks by his bunk. No wonder Cas took extra precaution with this letter. If the code was found, he would be facing charges of treason, possibly in a Russian prison. 

Dean contemplates the idea of escape. What seemed so necessary a couple of months ago now seems too risky for the benefit. The mountains would be his best exit strategy, especially since the Black Sea is completely cut off for him. Tramping through the Carpathians in the dead of winter? That sounds like a suicide mission. Besides, does he really want to leave? Honestly, if Alex tacked on a few extra months to his sentence, he wouldn’t be all that upset. He isn’t sure how much of that to attribute to his new friends, to the beauty of the area, and to Castiel. 

Dean is still hurt. He hasn’t forgiven Cas. More than anything, though, he wants to see him again. He isn’t going to wait to send a letter. He wants to talk to him now. 

 

***** 

 

Cas is reviewing a draft of a provision order when the room around him goes silent. The abrupt change makes him look up, and he stands in surprise. Dean is there, in the doorway, indomitable in spirit. He is in a room full of generals, princes, and boyars, and he doesn’t look the least bit concerned. 

“Pot să spun un cuvânt, înălțimea voastră?” 

“Desigur,” he replies and follows him out of the room. 

When they turn the corner, Dean says quickly, “You said to write back, but I’d rather talk now, if you have time.” 

Cas can hear the nerves in his voice, but that hardly matters. He is here. They are talking for the first time in weeks. He is close enough to touch. Not that he will be allowed to touch. In fact, Castiel, get touching out of your mind. “I’ll make time. Let me go make my excuses and I’ll be right back.” 

“Cas?” 

“Yes?” 

“Meet me at the stables?” Cas smiles in answer. 

Dean has both of their horses saddled and ready when Cas gets there. Without a word necessary, they mount their horses and head off to their favored spot by the lake. When they arrive, breaking the silence is difficult. Cas pats Fetiță’s flanks. Keep it simple. 

“She is thriving,” he praises. “I think she could outrun Raz now.” 

Dean leans into her, pride evident on his face. “She is fast. I’ve never ridden a horse that liked to run so hard.” 

Cas suddenly can’t stand the vastness of words that need to be spoken between them before they can even see what damage has been done, so he blurts out, “Dean, I’m so sorry. I have never regretted anything more in my life.” 

Dean rolls with the shift, not comfortably, but manageably. “So, we’re just going to jump right in.” 

“I don’t know how else to do this. These words are like venom, Dean. Keeping them in has been killing me.” 

“This is all about making you feel better?” Dean’s tone is whip sharp. 

Cas drops his head, deflated. “No, of course not.” 

Dean takes pity on him. “Come on, let’s go sit out on the rocks. I have questions first.” 

Dean has a million questions, but which one is the most important, which one is first? He supposes that it doesn’t matter. They’ll all get asked eventually. “Were there others?” 

“Others?” 

“Did you fuck other people while we were...whatever we were?” 

“No. From the moment you returned my interest and kissed me, there was no one else. Except.” 

“Except?” 

“New Year’s Eve.” 

“Ah.” After a second, Dean states, “You don’t know his name, do you?” 

“No.” 

“Goddamn, Castiel. You can be so cold.” Dean’s laugh is devoid of humor. 

“He didn’t matter to me. He propositioned me, I turned him down. He followed me to my rooms and caught me in a moment of weakness.” 

“You were horny, so it’s okay?” 

“NO! Fuck.” Cas drops his head into his hands, tugging on his hair. “Do you remember what happened between us in the courtyard that day?” 

“Yes, we had a very unsatisfying discussion.” 

Cas scoffs. “Everything about that conversation, from the fact that you were hiding from me, to your refusal to talk to me, to you shoving me away from you, felt like you were walking away. I thought I had already lost you. That was my weakness, Dean. I was hurting.” 

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean says it quietly. 

Cas gapes at him like he must have heard him wrong. 

“What? Did you think I was blameless here?” 

Cas snaps his mouth closed and tilts his head in question. God, Dean has missed that. A smile plays over his lips. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I did. I hurt you with my indecision.” 

“Dean, I was content waiting.” 

“That may be, but I imagine it wasn’t easy from your side.” 

“Easy things are not usually worth pursuing.” 

“Okay, Confucius,” Dean jokes to lighten the mood. It makes it hurt more knowing that the ease between them is ripped and tattered. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Cas asks warily. 

Their eyes meet and Dean tries not to look down at his lips. It is an almost conditioned response to the idea of asking for personal information. He might almost manage it. 

“What happened on Christmas Day?” 

Dean fidgets for a moment, picks up a stone and skims it across the water’s surface. After a few hops, it sinks and he starts talking. “The guard that saw us kissing in the stables? He told me not to get too attached to you, that you were notoriously fickle.” 

“Why would you listen to him?” 

“You didn’t recognize him?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “No, I can’t say that I did.” 

“Apparently he has good reason to call you fickle. He’s been in your bed, too, and you didn’t even acknowledge him.” 

Cas closes his eyes in shame. He doesn’t want to see the scolding look on Dean’s face. 

“Imagine what was going through my head, Cas. That was the first time we had ever kissed out in the open. We were seen by someone I work with. That already had my head spinning. Then, I find out you had fucked him and that set jealousy raging through me. All I could think was how unfair it was that he knew you like I didn’t. That led me to thinking about all of the other people that live and work here that you’ve slept with. I’m pretty sure that I started hyperventilating by that point. And then I remembered why I didn’t, couldn’t, have first-hand knowledge of being with you. I have all of these sexual phobias that I am trying to get over.” Dean stops babbling and takes in a lung-clearing breath. “All of those thoughts made me see how different we are, how incompatible, and I fled.” 

Cas shakes his head in denial. “We aren’t incompatible, Dean. We have different experiences, yes, but that doesn't matter.” 

“Different experiences?” Dean is gets loud in his indignation. 

“Do you know what my experience amounts to, Cas? You’ll get a laugh out of this. I courted a girl from Yorkshire for a few months before I shipped out on my first tour of duty. We never had sex. I lost my virginity to a whore in Spain, and since then, I’ve had a handful of others when the pressure got to be too much. That’s it. That’s the sum total of my experience.” 

Cas knew that the man’s experience was limited, but hearing how sheltered he has been, how unsatisfying his sex life has been, makes him want to lay Dean out on a bed and make love to him for hours. He wants to worship his body, introduce him to every pleasure he knows, take him apart and build him back up until he knows his worth without question. 

Dean is agitated, undeniably. He’s bordering on hysteria. He’s just unloaded a lifetime of insecurities and his nerves must be raw. Silently, Cas moves to sit in front of him and takes his hands in his own. Slowly, in case Dean isn’t ready to be touched. ‘You aren’t supposed to be touching, Castiel,’ he reminds himself. 

He rubs over his wrists the way Dean likes while they breathe together. “Hearing that doesn’t have the effect on me that you probably expected,” he admits. 

Dean defaults to humor to diminish his discomfort. “No, I expected you to run away screaming.” 

Cas lets him get away with it. “Do you want to know how it affects me?” 

Dean swallows hard. The intense stare from the prince lights a fuse within him that is too much. He pulls his hands away. “I don’t know if I can handle that right now, to be honest.” 

Cas gives him a sad smile and nods. “Of course. If you ever want to know, just ask.” 

Cas stands to head back to their horses. He’s apologized, he’s explained, they’ve talked, he understands why Dean shut him out. That’s more than he ever thought he would have. He can’t be greedy. 

When he reaches the edge of the rocks, he turns and sees Dean still seated. “There’s a lot more I want to say, but I think we’ve reached our quota for one day.” 

Dean nods in agreement, still staring out over the water. 

“I need to get back to work, but maybe we can see each other soon?” 

“No!” Dean suddenly jumps up and heads toward him. 

Cas is taken aback by his vehemence until he explains. “Alastair’s squadron is back from Bucharest. He was enraged to see me in uniform, and I’ve noticed him sniffing around you. The look in his eyes makes me uneasy. He means you harm, Cas. You shouldn’t leave the castle unattended.” 

Cas scowls. He needs to be more observant. He hasn’t noticed that vile man lurking about. “I spoke to Alex about him before they went back to the city. He promised me that if Alastair made another wrong move, he would get rid of him.” 

Dean seems settled by that knowledge. They head back towards Peleş, but Dean stops them when they are within sight of the castle. 

“I have border patrol to do, so I’m going to go from here. I’ll watch you back to the gate, though.” 

Cas nods and Dean remembers something important. It’s what they should have led with, but damn, feelings are sticky things. “Thank you for the warning.” 

Cas quirks a smile and his shoulders go rigid, like he is bracing himself. “Are you leaving, then?” 

“No, I have no reason to leave.” Such a simple statement, but it bolsters Cas’s crumbling foundation. 

He and Cas lock gazes, neither of them ready to leave the other. Dean feels the moment stretch, and he wants so much more. He wants more time with Cas. He wants...everything they didn’t have before. Because he can’t help but say the words, Dean tells him earnestly, “Mă gândesc la tine.” 

Romanian is an emotional language. Words and phrases have layers of meaning. The phrase he uttered so reverently literally means I’m thinking of you, but underneath, it also carries yearning. The meaning is closer to I’m missing you. 

Cas sucks in a breath, and a pained sound escapes from him. He turns his head away just as tears start to catch in his lashes. Dean waits for Cas to ask for another chance. He doesn't. 

He replies, “I miss you, too, Dean.” He can’t hide the wobble in his voice. 

Dean watches him all the way back to the castle gates. Because he is free in this moment to look at Cas with the longing he always hides, he does. His hand unconsciously rubs over his chest. It’s hard to breathe with the gaping hole where his heart once beat. 

 

***** 

 

He is silent on his feet when he wants to be. He knows the kitchen pantry is off limits, but Meg’s plum tarts are calling to him. With all of the exercise and sparring he’s been doing; his body is finally back to his original size. The extra muscle burns more calories, and Dean finds himself hungry all of the time. Before he can reach the pantry door, he hears a muffled scream from behind the outer wall. On alert now, he listens intently. He hears struggle and that’s enough to have him running. 

It is sleeting and dark, distorting the scene in front of him. He doesn’t need to see clearly to understand. Meg and Alina are each being held by one of Alastair’s men in what looks like a hug, but two others stand behind them pulling their arms tight so that they can’t struggle. Their skirts are flipped up over their backs, and men are slotted into the space between their legs. Alastair is one of them. 

Disgusted and incensed, Dean runs at the man closest to him, jumps up, and lands with his elbow crushing into the man’s temple. As he was the center man holding Meg, when he crumples, the whole set up falls apart. Meg jumps away from them, but then a murderous look overtakes her face. Her booted foot kicks the face of the man who had been raping her like she was trying to knock it into the mountains. Dean looks around him to get his bearings. Holy fuck. 

Besides the six men he had seen in the lantern light, there were at least five more coming quickly from the shadows. Surprise was his only weapon against so many men, and he’s already lost it. He turns to Meg and shouts at her to run. At the same time, he is drawing his kukri. He manages to get it halfway from its sheath when the first strike hits him. He knows the odds here. He is a great fighter, but no amount of skill is going to protect him from ten sadistic fucks. Alastair is within reach, so Dean makes a decision. 

He launches himself at the man with both hands going for his neck. The force of his weight sends them to the ground, which is just fine with Dean. He is as good of a grappler as he is a boxer. He quickly immobilizes Alastair’s legs with his and leans harder against his neck. Beneath Dean, he is scrambling to find a grip on his hands. Dean snarls at him in Romanian, “I might die, but I’m taking you with me.” 

Hands yank him upright, but he refuses to release his grip. His hands are cold and slippery from the sleet and the muddy ground. He clenches as hard as he can and lets out a loud grunt of effort. He just needs another minute. Suddenly, his hands are empty and he is on his back in the mud. Dammit. He failed. He is being kicked mercilessly. He knows they will kill him for this attack on their leader. He thinks of Cas and waits for the pain to stop. 

 

***** 

 

The door to his chambers flies open and Castiel hears a woman shouting. Meg is in the doorway, eyes wild with terror. “Come! You need to come now!” 

“What’s happened?” he asks as he throws a coat on over his thin clothes. 

“It’s Winchester,” she cries. “Alastair will kill him.” 

Castiel’s pulse is pounding in his ears. “Where?” 

“Behind the kitchens. Hurry.” 

As Castiel runs down the stairs, he yells back for her to get Alexander and the marshal. He’s leaping down three steps at a time, and he feels like it is taking an eternity. Muscles tremble with dread. Please let him get there in time. 

When Cas finally gets outside, he sees Dean held face down in deep mud by three men, his left arm at an unnatural angle. A shout of alarm erupts from him. The soldiers are so caught up in their sport that they don’t hear him. His face set like stone, he yells to Alastair, “Tell them to stop.” 

Alastair sneers at him. “They won’t stop. They want to see his blood stain the ground.” 

“You’ll hang for this.” 

“Maybe, but he’ll die first. He hasn’t come up for breath in a minute or so.” 

The smug patience of the man is making Castiel’s blood boil. Barbarous, savage thoughts are taking over his brain. He snatches the rifle from the closest man and aims it at the captain’s temple. 

Alastair stills. “Let’s think about this, your highness. He-” 

Castiel interrupts him with the loud sound of the hammer cocking. 

“Now.” One word uttered with absolute authority. 

Alastair practically growls at him, but whistles for the men, and they let go of Dean when they see what is happening behind them. As soon as the weight is off his head, he rears back and sucks in a saving breath. Cas almost collapses in relief. 

Now that they are quiet and focused on him, Castiel has no problem commanding them. “Move away from him now.” 

Dean is struggling to sit up. He can only get up to his elbows because his shoulder is dislocated and he’s pretty sure his other wrist is broken, but that’s far enough out of the mud to keep him breathing. He heard Cas’s voice. He can’t turn to see what’s going on, so he just concentrates on moving air in and out of his body that is wracked with tremors. He might be colder now than that horrible night back in France. Excellent. Another record beat. 

When they don’t move fast enough, Cas shouts the order, “Get the fuck away from him now!” 

They jump and scatter. Alexander, the marshal, and a contingent of guards arrive at the same time. 

“Castiel! What is the meaning of this?” 

As soon as the others arrive, Castiel can drop his guard and go to Dean. He hands the rifle to the marshal on the way by him. As he is helping Dean up and out of the mud, he catches his eye and whispers, “Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I will be. They were raping Meg and Alina.” 

Dean sees the nurturing Castiel disappear and the rage re-appear. He turns back to his brother. 

“Alastair and his men attacked and raped two young girls who work in the kitchen. Captain Winchester stopped them and they were trying to murder him for it.” 

He waves guards over to arrest the man. Castiel steps up to him and without a word rips both of his sleeves from Alastair's coat. Once they are hanging, he yanks away the epaulettes and all insignias from the coat that designate him as a military man. Finally, he crushes his hat under his foot. Cashiering is typically done in a formal manner by a disgraced soldier’s commanding officer. To Cas, this is as intimate an affront as anyone could offer him, and he will take his vengeance personally. 

With ice in his voice, he announces, “You are hereby stripped of all rank; your position is forfeit. The courts will deal with your crimes, and those of your men, but then you are no longer welcome in this castle or in this country. Your exile begins as soon as you are sentenced.” 

Alastair’s nostrils are flared, his face flushed, his breathing labored. He tries to appeal to Alexander, but the crown prince supports Castiel’s decision. Cas pins him in place with his gaze, forcing him to acknowledge the prince’s victory over him. He looks away when the physician arrives, but spits in the degraded soldier’s face before leaving. “Rot in hell.” 

 

***** 

 

Cas lets the physician bandage his broken wrist and re-set his dislocated shoulder, but then drags him back to his chambers. A steaming hot bath is waiting for him. The servants try to help bathe him, but Cas takes over and shoos them away. When it is just the two of them, Cas helps him out of the rest of the clothes that hadn’t been cut away to repair the damage. He helps him into the tub and Dean groans at the hot water, “It’s good to be king.” 

“Well, if not the king, then the fourth in line to the throne of a war-torn country which is a vassal state of a brutal empire...” 

Dean laughs, but regrets it as it jostles his shoulder. Cas has been hovering and agitated since he rescued him, and this is the first sign that he is relaxing. He is watching him in that way that he loves, like Dean is his entire world. He keeps the silence, letting Cas’s presence heal him. 

Carefully cleaning the mud from Dean’s body, he is soothing himself with touch; reassuring himself that Dean is here, that he is whole. Cas enjoys the quiet while he bathes Dean. Once again, the marked differences between this man and the foppish prats at court are monumental. He does not have to fill the silence with Dean. He can just...be. He can think, breathe, and meditate. It is such a relief to be in his company. He never feels that he needs solitude if he is with Dean. Dean is his solitude. 

He lets himself think about how differently this night could have gone. He fights back the emotional response, but apparently not well enough. 

“Hey. Cas. Look at me, please.” 

Dean smiles at him. “Thank you.” 

A tear escapes from Cas’s eye. “They could have killed you tonight.” 

Dean hates seeing the tears, but his watery voice is worse. “I know. They would have, but you saved me. Again.” 

Cas pulls him into a hug, delicately avoiding his shoulder and soaking himself in the process. 

Of course, Dean can't help but be a brat. “You’re my hero, Cas.” 

Mood shifted, Cas laughs and moves away from him. 

“All right, let’s rinse you off.” 

He stands Dean up to pour water over him, running his hands over his lines and curves to help push the soap down and off his body. Cas is thrown headlong into lust despite his innocent intentions. Dean has not let him touch his bare skin since that horrible mistake, and hardly ever before that. He revels in it, letting his hand slide up along Dean's throat to tilt his head back for the water to pour over. 

Dean swallows against his hand, feeling something erotic in the moment and confirming it by catching the look on Cas’s face. They might not be ready to leap into a relationship right now, but Dean feels hope. Hope is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I love feedback. Comments are lovely...
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	14. Pearl of Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas takes care of Dean.
> 
> Basically, pure smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a purpose, I swear. It's not just smut for it's own sake. It's foundational and relevant...and full of sex.
> 
> Romanian: 
> 
> Multumesc - Thank you  
> Bine! - Good!  
> băiat dulce - sweet boy
> 
> "kinky" was a word back in the 1850's, but it meant odd or eccentric. It wasn't used to refer to sexuality until the late 1800's. Forgive the slight inaccuracy. Maybe Cas is a vocabulary trendsetter?

“Fuck you, Cas!” Dean shouts as he leaps up from the table. He leans over it menacingly. “You have no right to take me off active duty.” 

Castiel sits between the crown prince and the marshal, both looking scandalized by his outburst. The marshal has his hand on his sidearm until Cas nonchalantly waves him off. 

Unflinching arrogance glares back at him. “I have every right, Captain Winchester, but that is beside the point. If you had let me finish before devolving into this tantrum, I would have given you the reason for my decision.” 

Dean hates feeling useless. It’s an itch, bone-deep, that he can’t reach; restless limbs that won’t stop twitching. Realistically, he knows that a soldier that can’t fire a gun or swing a sword is a waste of a uniform. If it was anyone else, he would find himself on the other side of the table casting his own judicious opinions. But it’s not anyone else. Cas knows how utterly out of his depth he’s been while his injuries heal. That Cas would add insult to them stings more than a little bit. 

“Since we are now under Russian rule, there are threats to the royal family that did not exist before. They are notorious for ending blood lines to dissuade anyone from trying to claim their right to the throne.” 

Dean’s ire drops in favor of concern. His brow furrows as he listens. 

“Instead of wasting your talents on general duties, I recommended for the crown prince to name you my personal guard.” 

Shit. Dean bows his head, feeling remorse. He should know better than to question Cas’s motives by now. Just add overreacting to the long list of consequences from his injuries. 

“Do you accept the position?” 

Dean meets his eye. Cas is going to make him pay for this behavior, for daring to treat him so disrespectfully in front of the others. He had best come off as gracious now, or it will just make it worse. “Of course, your highness. It will be my honor.” 

Cas scoffs and rolls his eyes. “It’s a little late for decorum, don’t you think?” 

Dean sees the challenge in his eyes and matches it, dripping innuendo. “Shall I kneel and pledge my fealty, my prince?” 

Dean smirks when he sees the prince’s cool visage crack. He blinks rapidly and swallows hard, all the reaction he can allow in this room. “That won’t be necessary.” 

 

***** 

 

Dean is going out of his mind. He has never experienced this level of sexual frustration. Cas is everywhere. His injuries are in the most inconvenient places, forcing him to need assistance with just about every task during the day. So, Cas is there, feeding him, dressing him, bathing him, reading to him. The man’s hands are on him all day long, and not only is Dean not supposed to reciprocate, he literally can’t. 

The prince is being a complete gentleman, even when he loosens Dean’s pants so that he can use the privy. His touch is gentle, perfunctory. It makes Dean want to slam him into a wall and take what Cas won’t. And then take some more. Damn, he can’t wait to be able to use his hands to grip those long, lean muscles. 

Cas can feel him staring. Part of their domestic routine, firmly established when Dean moved back to his chambers, includes two unusual practices to strengthen his bones and speed his healing; a nightly cup of bone broth and a Qigong practice called body tapping. Dean doesn’t complain about the broth, but when Cas had suggested the body tapping, Dean called him a witch doctor and a quack. It is a technique as old and highly regarded as Tai Chi, and Cas believes in the benefits of many healing arts. While body tapping is meant to be done to oneself, Dean obviously can’t use his hands to gently pound on his body. So, Cas does it. He uses the heel and knife edge of his palm, lightly striking along the meridian of his bones. Slow and rhythmic, he inches up Dean’s arm, over his collarbone, down his sternum, across his ribs, and back down his arm. He repeats on the other side, cautious of his injured areas. 

Once Cas showed him what it involved, he settled into the little percussive jolts, seeming to enjoy the stimulation of blood flow and nervous system, the firming of skin. As days passed, though, Dean became agitated when Cas began, and combative by the time he crossed to tap down his sternum. Cas continues to ignore his protests because he knows that it is strengthening him. 

His upper body is easy for Cas to work on without distraction. He can keep talking and maintain eye contact, feeling connected to Dean in a nurturing way. Working down his guard’s hips, legs, and feet; only to work back up his inner legs, is so much harder to do without his thoughts turning lascivious. Instead of tapping his hip bones, Cas wants to grip them tight, pulling Dean’s groin to his own. Once or twice, it has taken entirely too much restraint to keep himself from burrowing his face into that enticing bulge. 

More than anything, this tapping nonsense is what has Dean on edge. Cas, the bastard, acts as if it is the most innocuous thing in the world. Those beautiful hands, pounding over his bones, are awakening him in a primal way. Cas is knocking, demanding attention, pushing his body to recognize him; Dean is dying to respond. 

He doesn’t know if he can take another night of the reverberations. Every time Cas strikes over his sternum, it is a claim, and his body echoes with an ache to be possessed. 

When Cas wakes up hours later, it takes a moment to register what roused him. He’s oven-hot, clamped tight, and achingly hard. Shit. Dean is at his back, lips brushing the back of his neck, arm banded across his chest, and hips rubbing against his ass. 

Each and every night, for at least a week, Dean has ended up curled around him, cock marble-hard. So far, Cas has been able to peel him back and escape the bed. Yoga practice has been starting ever earlier in a desperate bid to fill his time and keep him away from his bed mate. 

Now though, his obscene breathy noises make Cas insane with desire. ‘Get up, Castiel,’ he berates himself. He can’t manage it. Instead, he is pulled under. When he pushes his hips back for the delicious friction, Dean grinds forward and gasps out his name. That simple syllable, fervent like a prayer, is what shatters his control. He turns in the vise of Dean’s arm and pats his cheek. 

“Dean. Wake up, draga meu.” 

Dean’s breathing is tattered, eyes barely open. “Cas?” 

“Yes, you were dreaming.” 

Dean’s face immediately flushes deep. Even by just the firelight, it is noticeable. Dean can only imagine the sounds he was making if any of his dream was bleeding through to the conscious world. And, oh, what a tragedy to lose that dream. The same deep blue is still staring into him now, so it feels as if the dream chased him home. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Dean is mortified that his fever dream actually woke Cas. 

“Dean, we need to talk about this.” 

Dean shakes his head and tries to turn over. Cas stops him easily. Dean still can’t use his wrist at all, and his shoulder is too tender to take much weight. 

“When was the last time, Dean?” 

“We’re not talking about this, Cas.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. We sleep in the same bed. I know you can’t use your hands right now, so I know you can’t take care of those needs yourself.” 

“I swear to God, Cas, if you try any more shaman shit, I’m going back to the barracks.” 

“Don’t be cranky. Let me help you.” 

Dean shoots a mortified look at the prince. “What exactly are you suggesting?” 

“Let me lend a hand,” he says with hardly a smile. 

“Absolutely not!” 

“Dean, be reasonable. I’m not trying to seduce you. This is a simple need that I can help with.” 

Flopping back on the pillows, Dean wants so badly to take him up on his offer. His cock is aching for attention that he can’t give it. His dream primed him, and he is in bed with a veritable sex god. He closes his eyes to block out the temptation, only to have it follow. 

Cas rolls to his side, tucking himself along the edge of Dean’s body. He whispers directly in his ear as his fingers carefully stroke along his chest. “This is so hard for you, isn’t it? I know you don’t like asking for help, so what if I just do what needs to be done and you can just...let it happen?” 

Dean tenses at his words, but he doesn’t deny him. Cas lets his fingers slide down Dean’s body, slowly, letting him get used to the weight of them. 

“You don’t need to say a word unless you want me to stop.” 

Cas offers such succulent temptation, ready-made with viable excuses. He can just lay back and let Cas take care of him with no responsibility at all. When his fingers tease the waistline of Dean’s pants, he sucks in a breath and Cas hesitates. Dean lets out the breath slowly, relaxing into his touch. 

Under the fabric, searing heat engulfs him. When he finally reaches his goal, Dean is even hotter to the touch. “Fuck, Dean. You’re going to burn me up, aren’t you?” 

Dean gasps at the touch and drops his arm over his eyes. He can’t look. Just the raspy voice whispering encouragement like that could take him over the edge. When Cas’s hand fists over the base of his cock and squeezes up to the tip, a groan is milked out of his chest. 

Cas gets a feel for the shape and texture of the velvety head, and then slides back down to the base. He’s seen Dean’s dick, but he’s never been allowed to touch. He closes his eyes to better memorize every detail. Dean is thick, strong, and Cas wants more than a quick jerk. What he wouldn’t give to get his mouth on it. 

He shoves and wiggles Dean’s pants down behind his pert ass, and then kicks them down with the heel of his foot. It isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever done, but there is no way in hell he’s going to let this prize out of his hands to get rid of clothing. 

Dean is still tense, needing this release but not wanting to give in. His lovely guard tries so valiantly to deny himself. Cas will push him until he doesn’t have a choice. 

“When you let me watch you fuck your hand, I paid very close attention. I know exactly what you like, sweetheart.” 

He aptly demonstrates the speed, movement, and pressure that Dean favors. Dean hums in approval and his breathing kicks up. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he lets his arm fall away and he finally looks. Cas is so fucking gorgeous it makes him ache. Seeing him command Dean’s pleasure is mesmerizing. He is ensnared. 

“I have so many new tricks I want to show you, too,” Cas smirks. Without breaking eye contact, he dips the tip of his thumb into the slit, sliding it back and forth in the sticky drops forming there. Refraining from bringing it to his mouth is killing him, but this isn’t sex. This is supposed to be quick, perfunctory masturbation. He’s already dragging this out too long. Dean makes a wounded sound and his eyes drop in lust. Cas battles with himself. Maybe just once more. He is desperate to hear that sound again. 

Cas moves over him with fluid confidence, hitting every spot that makes Dean shiver with unerring precision. In no time, his head is thrown back, his back arching. Having Cas touch him is beyond his dreams, beyond his many imaginings, and beyond all comprehension. 

“Oh, fuck. Cas,” he cries. “So good.” 

Cas knows that he has him when he moans his name. What a perfect sound that is. He doesn’t have time to relish it, because with just a few more strokes, Dean seizes up. Cas sighs at the feeling of hot liquid slipping over and through his fingers. He watches every drop spill out of him with delight as his touches get lighter. 

Cas finally looks back to Dean’s satiated face. He is seconds from sleep, his long lashes dipping lower with each blink. Pride lights up his chest. He is finding that caring for this man brings him contentment unlike anything he’s ever experienced. 

Dean smiles lazy and sweet, whispering, “Mulțumesc.” 

“You’re welcome, Dean.” 

 

***** 

 

The next time that Dean needs his assistance is less than a week later. It doesn’t take waking up from an almost wet dream in the middle of the night this time. Cas can’t help but notice the sheets tent up after Dean slides under them. It takes much less effort to convince him this time, too. Cas merely lifts a brow in question, Dean huffs out a put-upon sigh and nods. 

Though he still keeps the hand job quick and efficient, when he lies snuggled into Dean’s side, he allows himself to brush his lips over his temple and hairline. He doesn’t try to keep his erection hidden, but doesn’t rut into Dean’s hip like he really wants. Dean is much more relaxed this time, and it is over too soon for Castiel’s liking. It is excruciating to be this close and not allow himself to have the intimacy he craves. For the millionth time, he reminds himself why he is doing this. It is to take care of Dean’s needs. Period. 

Dean is so confused. He wants to kiss Cas, but isn’t getting the feeling that it would be welcome. He isn’t imagining the prince’s desire. It hits him like a wave whenever their eyes meet. Even now, he can see the tension of restraint in his shoulders and clenched jaw. Cas is holding back, again. Still. What Dean doesn’t understand is why? He seems fine jacking him off, but won’t do anything affectionate. Before their falling out, Cas couldn’t get enough of kissing him. 

Theoretically, he knows he could make the move. He could just lean in and take the soft, pink lips that he wants to lose himself with. He just...can’t. He’s over his hesitation, but not his insecurity. He’s working on it, but letting himself kiss a man, this man, is not the same as being the initiator. 

 

***** 

“Dean, this is ridiculous. Even at your age, you shouldn’t need this much release.” 

His exasperation brings blood rushing to Dean’s cheeks. He’s caught in a vicious cycle, but he can’t explain it to Cas. How can he possibly tell him that it is the smell of the sheets that brings about a conditioned response from his cock? Even though Cas has only touched him twice, it is apparently enough of a pattern for his desperate brain to latch on to. Castiel’s scent is saturated into their bed. When he slides into the warm cocoon, he is surrounded by that delectable smell. He can’t help but think of being close to the source of that ambrosia. He can’t help but harden at the thoughts and memories. When he gets hard, Cas will touch him. Then, there is more sense memory to positively reinforce this unwanted behavior. 

Dean doesn’t like being scolded for his body’s responses, so, gesturing at his dick, he snaps back, “I’m a healthy man, Cas. It’s not like I’m choosing this to piss you off. Just because I get hard doesn’t mean that something has to be done about it.” 

Cas isn’t upset with Dean. In fact, he’s thrilled that even if Dean isn’t consciously seeking him out, his body is. He knows that he shouldn’t be watching so closely. He should give the man some space for his dignity. Who cares about dignity, though, when Dean responds to him so sweetly? Cas is addicted, and that is what has him frustrated. 

With his head tilted and eyes narrowed, he contemplates what to do about Dean. Still without acknowledging Dean’s comments, Cas climbs into the bed, fussing with the pillows until he has them situated so he can sit propped against the headboard. He holds a hand up in invitation. 

“Strip and come here, Dean.” 

A little tug in his gut at hearing the command keeps him from sassing the prince. He crawls onto the bed, unsure about what Cas has in mind. Cas spreads his legs wide and pats the space between them. Dean hesitantly follows the order, but sits forward near his knees. 

Cas runs a warm hand down the length of his spine. “My arms aren’t that long, draga meu. Come here.” 

Dean looks over his shoulder, seeking reassurance before he slides backward to slot his back against Cas’s chest. The prince manhandles him into place, bringing his ass flush with his cock, which, goddammit, is already filling. This close, Cas can feel the rigidity of Dean’s muscles. He is going to have to settle him or he might flee. Coasting his hands over the lean planes of Dean’s chest, he leans up to his shoulder to enjoy the view, long lines of muscle leading down to a proud cock. It also allows him to speak directly into Dean’s ear. 

“These quick and dirty hand jobs aren’t releasing enough of your tension, Dean. I can give you a much stronger orgasm that will wring you out and leave you completely satisfied. Would you like me to do that?” 

Dean doesn’t answer, just leans more heavily into the man at his back. There is something vulnerable about this position. Cas is still clothed and in full control of him. Dean is naked and exposed. He should hate it, should be squirming to cover himself. Instead, he is reveling in it. He can’t imagine what Cas could have been holding back from him, what more he could possibly do to make him come harder, but he is both terrified and enthusiastic about finding out. 

“I need you to answer me, sweetheart.” 

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. “Wha-what did you have in mind?” 

The evil chuckle in his ear should be alarming. It just stokes the fire. “I’m going to do something called edging. I’m going to bring you right to the edge of orgasm, and then back off. I’ll do it several times, and when I finally let you come, it will be a lot more intense for you.” 

Dean tries to stifle the pitiful sound that bubbles up from his throat. 

“You’re going to have to help me the first couple of times. I don’t know your body well enough to be able to know when you’ve hit that point, so I need you to tell me. You will have to be very clear. You can’t assume that I know by your reactions, okay? Can you do that?” 

He has no idea if he is ready for this. Every sexual experience he has ever had has been striving for orgasm. He’s never stopped when he was anywhere close. 

“I can try,” Dean agrees. “I’ve never stopped myself before.” 

“I know, Dean. Most people don’t.” 

Cas is warming him up as they discuss what he has in mind, skating his hands down Dean’s hips and legs, back up over his abdomen, then dipping into his inner thighs. He adores how easily Dean spreads his thighs, leans into his touch. 

Dean lets his arms drape over Cas’s hips, caging him in the best that he can without any actual grip. His curiosity tickling to know, “You do, though?” 

“Mmm.” Cas agrees while chasing Dean’s scent below his ear. “Most of the time, actually. Anticipation and arousal are gifts that most people overlook. Feeling that buzz in your veins for hours, letting it really take hold of you...sometimes it’s better than the actual release. Once you get a taste for how intense the orgasms are after delaying or denying yourself, I think you’ll be a convert.” 

Dean feels anticipation and arousal already. He can’t imagine hours. Hours? He trusts Cas, though, so he puts himself into his capable hands. 

As soon as Cas’s hand is on him, he feels the pressure building quickly. Dean feels dread as he realizes that if things don’t slow down, it will be over in minutes. He tries to back away from the intense sensations, but there is nowhere to go. 

“What’s the matter, Dean?” Cas asks quietly. 

“Too fast. I’m not going to last like this.” 

Cas rubs his lips across the side of Dean’s thick neck. “You’ll tell me when to stop, right?” 

“Yes, but it’s going to be quick.” 

“That’s fine.” 

He’s still nervous, but Cas doesn’t seem the least bit concerned, too busy fanning the flames by touching him everywhere. He had no idea the side of his neck was so sensitive, but Cas is teaching him wonderful things about himself. 

“When should I stop you?” 

Cas speeds up his strokes as he answers. “You know that moment when you stop moving and you’re just waiting for the pulsing to start? Just before you tense up. That’s when you need to stop me. Okay?” 

Dean’s head is back, breathing harsh, and Cas can see his toes curl. He should have known that this responsive man would be easy to read. Just as he is about let go of Dean’s cock, Dean says through a pained breath, “Cas, stop! Gonna come.” 

He immediately takes his hands away from Dean. The drastic loss of contact almost hurts, and Dean finds himself shifting to find friction. Cas holds his hips down, but praises “Bine! That was amazing, Dean! Breathe deep, sweetheart. It will help.” Dean is radiant with the praise. The more he focuses on Cas’s words, the less the loss of his touch aches. Okay. That was not fun, but he feels pride that he could do what Cas asked of him. 

After a couple of minutes, Dean’s muscles relax and his breathing slows. “Ready?” Cas asks as he grips him tight. Dean just nods. 

This time the prince is using tight, slow strokes, his thumb dragging across the vein underneath and lingering right below the head on every pass. The feeling is deep and raw, so intense after the quick, efficient strokes from before. Cas is dragging him towards release by wresting it from his very soul. 

Panting now, he feels Cas’s breathing is as labored, too. That ebony chaos of hair is in the perfect spot for him to lean into, his forehead resting on Dean’s shoulder. A distilled version of that smoky, spicy scent is right there for him to bury his face in. He’s never felt obsession with a smell before, but that’s what’s happening. He can’t get enough of it. When he breathes it in, he actually salivates. 

Cas is rubbing his left hand over Dean's belly, just above his groin. Every once in a while, his fingers flex against his skin, like he has to fight the desire to dig in. Given all of the other available skin to grope, it seems like such a strange place to focus on. Dean needs a mental distraction from this physical onslaught, so he asks why. 

“Does it not feel good?” 

“Yes, it feels very nice, but I’ve never thought of my belly as an erogenous zone and you seem taken with it. That’s all.” 

“Are you sure you want to know? I’ve kept most of my fantasies quiet, Dean, and this is one of the filthier ones. I don’t want to frighten you.” 

Jesus. Cas’s voice is pumice-rough and so much deeper than his typical timber. Is this his sex voice? Dammit. So much for the distraction from lust. Dean is feeling bold. 

“C’mon, Cas. Your hand is on my cock. I doubt your words are going to be too much for me.” 

Cas hums that gorgeous sound that is an almost purr. Dean shivers and sighs. Cas smirks at his beautiful guard. Challenge accepted. 

“I’m fantasizing about fucking you, Dean. About putting you on your knees and shoving your face down onto the bed to raise that perfect ass in the air. I want to open you up slowly and then fuck into you so hard, so deep that I can feel my cock head through your belly.” 

Dean whimpers as he is assaulted by the images. His breath hitches when Cas pushes up with his hips and down with his hand. Holy shit, that feels good. 

“Yeah, right there,” he assures him. “Can you picture it, baby? You’d take it so well, stretched out wide on my cock as I drilled into you.” 

Dean’s hand moves to cover Cas’s. Not to push it away, but to hold it there. Fuck. This inexperienced man is just naturally sexier than anyone Cas has ever known. He keeps talking, hoping to push him to the edge with his words. 

“That’s a fucking delicious image, but that’s not all I want. I want to mark you with my come, Dean. I want to push it deep and keep it in there. I want to do it over and over again until I get so much of it in you that it distends your belly.” 

Dean’s there by the time the words are out. “Oh, fuck. Oh god, Cas. Gonna come.” 

Cas growls when he lets go of Dean this time. He was as lost in that scenario as Dean seemed to be. He’s never had possessive tendencies and definitely not like this. Cas is very pleased that the idea of fucking didn’t make Dean pull away. That was risky, though. Come inflation is not exactly tiptoeing into kinky thoughts. The words had the desired effect, but he needs to get a grip not just on Dean, but on himself as well. 

Dean is sitting up, curled forward a little. His eyes are wide as he takes shaky breaths. Jesus Christ. He asked for filthy and fuck if Cas didn’t deliver. The idea of being fucked was enough, but being marked, owned? Goddamn that’s more than he can process right now. It makes him want, makes him ache for what Cas was putting into words. 

It’s taking him a lot longer to settle this time. His body is overheated and he knows if Cas touches his cock right now, it will be over in seconds. He looks down at his lap. His angry dick is red and straining. Cas touches his back and he pulls away from him. “Not yet, Cas.” 

“What do you need?” 

“Just time. I’m still hovering on edge.” Dean turns to look at him over his shoulder. Cas nods and rubs his hands over his face. 

“You won’t get back to that starting point again. Your resting point is going to creep higher each time. After a few times, it will just be a minute or two between stopping.” 

Dean looks bewildered. “Do you still want to continue?” 

He furrows his brow in thought. “You’ve done this, right?” 

“Of course, Dean. I wouldn’t suggest it to you if I didn’t know it would help.” 

Dean meets his eye and gives him a lop-sided smile. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.” 

Cas beckons him back with a smile of his own. He loves Dean feisty and ready for adventure. Dean leans into him and Cas wraps both arms around him, giving him firm, soothing touches. 

“This is when I really need you to communicate with me, understand? You’re going to be staying near the point of no return, and it won’t take much to push you over. I want to get you there and back several more times to really give you an explosive orgasm. I need you on top of what’s going on with your body.” 

“Got it.” 

Cas thinks Dean is being a little flippant, but he doesn’t know what this is going to feel like. He has no idea how intense it will be. 

 

***** 

“Oh god, Cas. Please. Please. Let me come. I will do anything, just let me come.” 

Cas shushes him again. Dean has been babbling for a good ten minutes. He’s been teased with stopping and starting touches for quite a while. Cas alternates from light, tickling fingertip touches, to tight grips that just pop over the head. He twists, he rubs, he plays with his slit; but what he doesn’t do is follow a rhythm for more than a few strokes. Dean is sweating a little now, starting to shake. He’s not desperate yet, but Cas can sense that he will be soon. 

Cas grabs the jar of olive oil from the bedside table near the fireplace and pours some over Dean to reduce the friction of their skin after so much tugging and rubbing. The warm, slick oil feels so good that they both sigh in contentment. 

“That feels amazing, Cas.” 

“Doesn’t it? You’re so slippery and wet now,” Cas purrs. 

Dean moans obscenely, like it is pulled from his gut. He lifts his hips to thrust up. Cas lets him take his pleasure for a moment, enjoying the sight of those strong abdominal muscles bunching and rolling with him. He’s so mesmerized by the feel of them under his fingers that he doesn’t notice the intensity of Dean’s moans and sighs is quickening. It isn’t until his back arches that Cas realizes that he’s about to come. “Shit!” 

Cas moves fast, grasping the base of Dean’s dick with squeezing pressure and pulling down on his scrotum with the other hand. “Dean, stop!” he commands. 

Dean sobs his disappointment. “No, no, no. Don’t stop, Cas. Please, baby? Don’t stop.” 

“I said stop!” 

Dean stills, breath coming in shudders. 

“That was too close, Dean. What happened to you communicating with me?” 

Being chastised by Cas rankles, and he stiffens in response. Cas notices and comments softly. “You don’t like that, do you? You much prefer my praise, yes?” 

Dean nods and swallows hard. 

“Then earn it,” Cas snaps at him. 

Dean is shocked for a moment, but then lust hits him like a physical blow. He nods repeatedly, agreeing with the dominant demand. “I will. I will, I promise.” 

Cas begins again with soothing touches. “I know you will, băiat dulce. Don’t be afraid to be loud. Yelling is primal and it will displace other feelings. It will give you better control.” 

Dean had no idea that so many places on his body were capable of bringing him pleasure. Cas could teach a university class with the knowledge he has shown him tonight. His nipples are hard and aching after Cas played with them, tugging and pinching. Dean has never really touched them except to wash his chest. It never occurred to him. 

After that, he told Dean to pull his knees up and he used a gentle touch to stroke the tender skin behind them. Again, the pleasure was surprising. He moved onto his testicles, a more obvious choice, but instead of gripping or rolling them, he concentrated on the scrotum and the seam up the middle. Cas’s touch has him right at the breaking point again. 

Cas is pleased. Dean is pliant and sprawled across him. His body is trembling, he is drenched in sweat, and putting off more heat than the fire. His head slides back to his Cas’s shoulder, and he is nosing at Cas's neck. He’s taken Dean apart so thoroughly that he’s begging and pleading jibberish, leaning hard into Cas’s body. His eyes are drugged and glassy. He’s so close that Cas is going to have to stop again soon. 

When he starts to slow his movements, Dean has a lucid moment, “I can’t do it, Cas. Please. Don’t make me stop again.” 

Cas talks to him in deep whispers, praising his control. “You can hold out once more, Dean. You are so strong.” 

Dean is shaking his head in denial. He whines when Cas stops moving. The prince shushes him and leans in to taste his lips. Kissing this man is his weakness. He has missed it so desperately that he gets swept away. Languid, deep kisses that burn him. He’s almost as worked up as Dean after spending all of this time with him naked in his lap, focused solely on giving him pleasure. 

“See? You did it. You’re almost done, Dean, and it will be so worth it. I am so proud of you, sweetheart.” 

Dean realizes how much he yearns for Cas’s praise, his pleasure. It feels almost better than touch. He gets lost in Cas’s eyes. He never wants this to end. 

Cas kisses him again, and then gets back to the task at hand. He holds his fist over Dean’s cock but doesn’t move. “I want you to fuck my hand, Dean. Take your pleasure from me.” 

Dean doesn’t have any inhibitions left. He is a seething mass of raw nerves. He immediately thrusts up into the tightness of Cas’s hand. It doesn’t take long to fall into a devastating rhythm. On every down stroke, he can feel the thick length of Cas’s cock prodding and sliding against his ass. That, more than anything else, is what has him trembling again. He pictures Cas’s earlier fantasy, and he wants it. He wants Cas to fuck him. He wants to be mounted, pounded, and owned. Holy shit. 

He’s out of control, yelling his warning, “Cas. Oh shit. Can’t hold- Fuck! Gonna come.” 

“Go ahead, baby. Take it. You’ve earned it.” 

His body seizes up immediately. He can feel the intense wave about to take him under. “Yes,” he sighs as the first pulse rocks him. 

If there is a heaven, he hopes that it feels half as good as he does in this moment. His vision whites out, and he can do nothing but feel the full body euphoria. It sizzles through his veins, tingles over every skin cell, shakes him until he is nothing but weightless exhilaration. 

Cas is euphoric, too. Pride wells up in him as he watches Dean in the violent throes of release. He is a divine sight to behold. Cas pets him to make sure he feels grounded as his orgasm goes on and on. His body bows with seizing muscles. He comes so hard that some of the creamy liquid hits his neck. Cas leans over to lick the pearly drop from his neck. 

Delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the chapter, I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	15. Feel What it's Like to be New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to vent a little to those of you that read the notes. I never realized how difficult I was making my life when I decided to set this story in 1853. Did you know that the terms gay and homosexual were not used in the 1850's? Did you know that the words boyfriend and kinky are also not in their lexicon? 
> 
> So, what does smart girl decide to do? Write a kinky love story between Dean and Cas set during the Crimean War.
> 
> Arrgghh.
> 
>  
> 
> And now for the one we've all been waiting for...

Dean wakes with a contentment he’s rarely felt. His muscles are loose, his mind is clear, and the arousal he feels is just a pleasant reminder of the night before. What he had experienced with Cas had been so shockingly different from what he previously understood sex to be, that it didn’t seem fair to consider it the same act. It was the same in the way that sloshing water in a tub is the same as a tsunami. 

He is reminiscing with a smile tugging his lips, as his unbandaged hand skates over his chest. He lets his fingernail catch on the nipple, still amazed at the jolt it sends to his groin. His prince has skills that Dean can’t comprehend, but he is chomping at the bit to become his diligent and devoted apprentice. 

Disquiet clouds his mind as he realizes that Cas isn’t in their bed. He had been hoping to rouse him for more breathless kisses and heated touches. That simmering arousal that he felt when he woke is now bubbling higher, his typical reaction to thoughts of Cas. 

Speaking of Castiel, Dean frowns when he realizes that he isn’t just missing from their bed. From the silence, he would guess that the prince has left their rooms. That wouldn’t be an issue except that he forgot his personal guard. 

“Cas?” he sounds into the room. Suspicions confirmed. “God dammit.” 

Dean dresses quickly and goes out in search of his charge. It takes him twenty minutes and several stops before he finally finds Cas and Michael sitting in the Turkish Lounge with a table full of men he doesn’t know. He snaps the hem of his coat down and settles into parade rest next to Matei who drew the short straw in the lottery of protection detail. 

Without moving his lips, Matei teases, “Glad you could finally join us.” 

Dean glares and responds quietly enough to seem silent in the room. “Cas- The prince didn’t wake me. I didn’t know there was a change in the schedule.” 

Matei tries to hide the snicker. “Poor baby. You had to endure sleeping late in your royal apartments.” 

“Shut up.” 

Dean is good at being still. He can sit in a blind with a gun and wait patiently for hours without twitching a muscle. Guard duty is effortless by comparison. Today, he is restless. Something about the situation feels wrong. Did he do something to upset Castiel? Why wouldn’t he want him to do his job? 

Cas meets his eye when the men take a break from their conversation. Instead of the warm greeting he expects, Cas frowns and looks back at the papers in front of him. So, Dean isn’t imagining the strain. He can’t fathom what could have happened to put this unwanted distance between them. Last night, Cas had kissed him sweetly through the aftershocks of a mind-bending, life-altering orgasm. When his eyes slid shut, Cas had whispered, “Sleep, Dean.” That is the last thing he remembers. 

He’s missing something, something fundamental. When the meeting ends, Cas and Michael continue their conversation as they leave the room. Naturally, the guards follow behind them. After a few steps, Castiel stiffens and turns halfway. 

“Dean, can you see about lunch? We’ll be in the Council Room.” 

“I’m supposed to be your protection, Cas.” 

Dean doesn’t miss that his nickname is not welcome. “Matei will be with us. Just as he was this morning.” 

Dean is annoyed, but doesn’t want to cause a scene, so he slips into French to preserve their privacy. “Is that why you left me in bed this morning? You didn’t need me? Or is there another reason you are avoiding me?” 

When Cas meets his eye, he looks tired. Frustrated. He sighs and runs his hands over his face and back through his hair. He answers with a touch of defeat in his voice, “I just needed a few hours away from the constant temptation, Dean. Can you-can you just give me some space today?” 

He turns and leaves with the others. Matei looks over his shoulder and shrugs. Dean is still gawking after them after they are long gone. In a very Castiel-like move, he tilts his head to the side. It doesn’t provide any clarity for him. 

Dean hurries to the kitchens to take care of the bullshit task he’s been given. There is a thread dangling here for him to unravel. He needs some fresh air to think. He gives quick instruction to the staff before heading to the gardens. The first crisp, lungful of air clears his head. 

He wanders past the long rows of entangled thorny masses to the left. Roses in winter are spiteful, nasty things. 

Cas was in full command of him last night, very much involved and affected by their intimacy. Temptation? Hadn’t he given in to temptation? He had Dean naked in his lap, writhing. Could that be it? Dean hadn’t reciprocated? He very much doubts it. Cas had been very clear that he was just doing it to make Dean some much-needed release. So, why is he only engaging Dean when it has a utilitarian purpose? Why isn’t he pursuing him outright? 

He stops at the pond to watch the small flock of red-breasted geese. They are so different from the geese he grew up with, their patchwork faces seem painted on. In his peripheral vision, he sees the beautiful pair of mute swans, gliding towards the reeds like twin ghost ships. He smiles as he thinks of his brother. When he was a young boy, Sam had found birds fascinating and often shared facts with Dean. He remembers that swans are monogamous and mate for life. He likes that idea and watches the pair that paddle within inches of each other. When one turns, the other follows elegantly. 

Temptation. Dean’s temptation is Castiel. He wants everything about the man. Friendship, intimacy, sex. He had thought that after last night they were finally on the same page. He shakes his head. He can only seem to think from his own perspective. 

Okay. Backtrack. New Year’s Eve changed everything. Dean had been on his way to talk to Castiel about moving their relationship forward when the awful thing that shall not be mentioned happened. Dean still shivers in revulsion if he thinks too long on it. 

Dean moved to the barracks until Alastair and his men tried to kill him. Cas has been taking care of him since, but they hadn’t gone back to their previous flirty, almost relationship. Dean had been content to let Cas lead them, and he hadn’t shown any signs of resuming their relationship. 

The sudden realization shakes him like a thunderclap. He is letting Cas lead the relationship, and Cas isn’t going to push Dean. They are like two parallel lines, doomed to never cross unless one of them changes their trajectory. 

“Son of a bitch.” 

 

***** 

 

Cas isn’t in the Council Room. He isn’t in his chambers. He isn’t in the observatory. 

Dean isn’t daunted. 

He has untangled the last little mystery holding his Gordian Knot together, and now he is on the prowl for his prize. How much time has he wasted by not knowing the right questions to ask? No more. Cas asked for space today, but he doesn’t know what Dean knows. He will not be dissuaded. 

Cas isn’t hiding. Not really. After the intense encounter last night, he is too emotionally raw to be near Dean. When Dean closed his eyes last night, their little bubble burst. Without his willing partner in delusion, he couldn’t continue fantasizing that Dean is his. He can’t pretend that it was just a fun night of sex with the man he loves. 

Besides, he has important work, and he can’t be distracted by his beautiful guard. He knows it’s a horseshit excuse, but he needs some time to pack away his feelings again. Of course, that’s not what he’s going to get. 

He is aware of Dean standing in the doorway to the library before he looks up. He expects to see hurt, anger, confusion. 

He doesn’t expect Dean’s predatory grin or the way he pins Castiel in place with his ravenous eyes. Slowly, Dean stalks over to where he is frozen near the shelves. The hair on the back of Cas’s neck raises an alarm, goosebumps follow. Dean stops directly in front of him, several feet too close for polite conversation. Cas starts to step back out of his personal space, but Dean anticipates the move and catches his elbow to keep him right where he is. 

“Hi, Cas,” he purrs. The smug satisfaction on his face is confusing. And sexy. Damn, confidence is a good look on Dean. 

“Dean,” he says curtly. 

The guard narrows his gaze and licks his lips. “We need to talk.” 

Cas wilts. “Can we just-” 

Dean interrupts him with absolute conviction. “No. We cannot just. We are getting this out. Now. The only option is where.” 

Cas is aroused by this forceful man, but he isn’t going to submit easily. He puts steel into his spine before replying, “Then I suppose it will have to be here.” 

Dean shrugs. “Fine by me.” 

They are at a standoff, but only because Dean seems to be toying with him. “Well, Dean? You’re the one that insisted we talk. So, talk.” 

Dean’s eyes soften and he steps in closer. Cas has never felt the small height difference between them more acutely. “Well, Cas, I just realized that you’ve been operating under some false assumptions, so it’s time to rectify them.” 

“What false assumptions are those, Dean?” 

“You don’t believe that I want to pursue this relationship. That is patently false.” 

Dean smirks at the shock on Cas’s face. He’s never seen his eyes go so wide. He feels a swell of pride when the prince gapes like a cod but no words come out. No witty remarks, no biting sarcasm. Dean takes a step closer, and Cas does back up. 

“You think that I am not ready to be with you. Also false.” 

Dean steps, Cas retreats. 

“You believe that I don’t want you physically. Downright ridiculous.” 

Step. Retreat. Cas hits the bookshelf and his breathing is uneven. Dean takes the book out of his hands and sets it aside. 

“Let me be very clear so there are no more misunderstandings, Castiel. I want you. I want to be with you. I want us to be a couple and everything that entails.” 

Cas’s eyes are blazing, his heart pounding. Dean is handing him everything. He wants to believe it, but is afraid to hope. If Dean changes his mind, it will kill him. 

“I asked you to be certain, Dean. I need you to be absolutely sure this is what you want. I can’t-” 

Cas’s voice breaks with emotion, and Dean pulls him in for a tight embrace. “Yes, Cas. I’m sure. I have no doubt at all that you are exactly what I want. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to tell you.” 

Cas pulls back to scan his face. Wide eyes framed by graceful lashes look back at him. Guileless, confident, and full of joy. A pained sound escapes his lips before he grabs Dean’s face and pulls him into a devastating kiss. 

They’ve kissed many times before. Cas has memorized exactly how each part of Dean’s spectacular mouth feels beneath his. He can tease Dean to desperation with his kisses, but there has never been a sweeter kiss than this one. It is a promise and a beginning that neither of them ever thought they would get to have. 

When they pull back to rest their foreheads together and drag in much needed air, Dean looks drugged. “Wow,” he pants. “I am a very lucky man.” 

Cas smiles. “No, sweetheart. I’m the lucky one.” 

Dean blushes and clears his throat. “So, I have a question for you.” 

Cas can’t stop touching Dean. One hand runs through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck, the other across his lower back. Dean, injured as he still is, can only rest his arms at Cas’s waist. He flexes fingers, wanting more. 

There is fire in Dean’s eyes now. Heat and challenge light them up from within. “Will you take me to bed?” 

Cas is stunned momentarily, but then levels him with a salacious grin. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those words from you, sweetheart. They are music to my ears.” 

 

***** 

 

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes when Cas finally steps back. He’s leaning against a wall just outside the ball room, which is at least three floors too low. He groans, “How are we still so far away from your chambers?” 

Instead of answering, Cas melts into him again. They are both frantic in their need to get closer to each other. Dean’s coat is hanging open, undershirt untucked and pants loosened to let Cas’s hand roam over every inch of skin he can reach. Cas is much more suitably-covered, as Dean can’t rip his clothes away. Dean is so lust-drunk that Cas is able to push and shove him wherever he wants him. 

“Have you ever had a blow job, Dean?” Cas pants into his mouth. 

“Once.” 

“Did you like it?” 

“It was good, I guess.” 

Cas kisses and sucks hard against the skin of Dean’s neck. He drops his head back against the wall on a moan. 

“Can I suck your cock, baby?” 

A gutteral sound of torment punches out of Dean. “Fuck, yes. Please, Cas.” 

That hum. That fucking hum of approval that sounds like a purr. It’s going to do him in. 

Cas is about to drop to his knees when he hears talking coming from around the corner. They need to stop touching or they will never make it to a bed. He looks at Dean, slouching into the wall at the shoulders, disheveled with kiss-swollen lips. How can he possibly resist this gorgeous creature for that long? Maybe just one more kiss. 

Dean turns frantic when Cas sucks and bites at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Oh god, Cas. Fuck. Please.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he’s certain that Cas does. 

"Am I overwhelming you, sweetheart?" 

"In a good way,” he laughs. “Intense, like I'm being swept away." 

“Alright, here’s the plan. No more touching until we are behind closed doors.” 

Dean turns up his nose. “That’s a terrible plan.” 

“No, it’s smart. Let’s go.” 

Cas pulls on Dean’s sleeve as he walks like a man on a very particular mission. 

Dean stops and pulls back. “Cas, there’s a door right here. Let’s get behind this one.” He grins like an idiot and tries to kiss Cas again. 

He receives the eyebrow and an eyeroll. “Hurry up, Dean, or I may start without you.” 

 

***** 

 

When the door clicks shut, Cas finds himself slammed into it. Dean boxes him in with one hand and the other forearm to avoid his wrist. He presses tightly against Cas, hip to hip, and slowly licks into his mouth. Cas groans at Dean’s intensity. No matter what he does once they get skin to skin, it isn’t going to last long. The first time, anyway. 

“Mmm. Do you want to do this here or on the bed?” 

Dean pulls away, murmurs “Bed,” and then dives back in. Cas smiles against his lips and pushes off the wall. As he walks them across the long room and up the little stairs, he helps shed all of their clothing. He allows himself a brief moment of wonderment when he sees Dean’s body. This god of a man is his. He can finally touch him like he he’s been itching to for months. 

“Goddamn, Cas. I love it when you look at me like that,” Dean rumbles. 

Cas bites his bottom lip and lifts needy eyes. “You mean like I want to devour you?” 

Dean nods and takes another kiss. Cas runs his hands over his chest and down his sides. 

“There are so many ideas vying for attention. I can’t decide what I want first. Suggestions?” 

“You asked if you could suck my cock. Maybe we should start there?” 

This flirty Dean is more than he could have hoped for. Cas is still half-convinced that Dean will panic, but he puts it out of his mind. He won't let doubt in.

Cas shoves Dean hard, forcing him to bounce on the bed. Cas crawls up on all fours, kissing and sucking his way up his legs. He keeps his eyes on Dean’s, letting him see the open lust. He pushes Dean’s legs wide to make room for himself, caressing all around his groin. 

“Tell me about the blow job you had before.” 

“Not much to tell. It was quick and she mostly used her hand.” 

Cas looks disgusted. “That is a travesty, which we will fix right now.” 

Dean tries to prop himself up on his hands so he can see everything, only to hiss in pain. Cas crawls up his body, propping pillows up behind him. When he gets Dean situated, he realizes that he is sitting in Dean’s lap. Wrapping his hand into Dean’s hair, he grinds down. Dean growls, deep and reverberating. 

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Dean makes an incoherent grunt of agreement. Cas rolls his hips, which drags another obscene sound from Dean. 

“We’ll get to that someday soon, but we’re going to take this slow, okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re not fucking today. Or tomorrow. There are a lot of other ways to have sex, and I want to take my time with you. I want to learn everything you like.” 

Dean gives him a look of honest appreciation. “That’s-good. I’ll be honest, Cas. I have no idea what I’m doing. Everything is going to be new to me. You know that, but it bears repeating.” 

Cas promises, "I'll show you. I’ll show you everything.” 

Dean looks suddenly nervous, biting at his lips and looking away. Cas ducks his head to catch his eye. “Hey, where did you go?” 

His valiant soldier, built from heavy, thick muscle, looks bashful and his cheeks pink with a blush. Cas loves the faint freckles that give him a boyish charm. 

“I don’t know if I can handle everything, Cas.” 

Cas lifts his chin and barely touches their lips together. “I will never ask you to do something you don't want to do or aren't ready for. Sex is about pleasure, and if you are feeling anything else, we will stop." 

“But what if it’s something that you want? That you need?” 

“Like what, sweetheart?” 

“Group sex.” 

Cas is surprised at the sharp vehemence that screams in his mind at the thought of sharing Dean with anyone else. 

He is already shaking his head in denial before he speaks. “I don’t want that.” 

“But you’ve had-” 

Cas interrupts, “I will never share you, Dean. It’s not-I can’t.” 

Dean smiles at the possessive declaration. He drinks his fill of Cas while he’s so close. Lean muscle, elegant lines, and eyes that shine like brilliant sapphires. Such utter perfection cozied up in his lap. Damn. He truly is the luckiest man alive. This moment is unbearably sweet, full of trust and devotion. 

After such pure emotion, it takes time to change the tide of their passion. They kiss languidly, without hurry, letting it build again naturally, until Cas decides he can’t wait any longer to taste Dean’s cock. He slides back down his body and gets comfortable, loving the look in Dean’s eyes as he licks up from the base to the head. His mouth drops open on a gasp. 

Cas grins at him. “Since you’ve never really had a decent blowjob, I’m going to keep it pretty standard this time. I want you to have something to compare it to when I pull out all the stops later.” 

He’s going to wreck Dean with this experience. Not to be vain, but Cas knows he’s masterful at sucking cock. He’s reduced men to incoherent babbling only to later receive reverent praise of his skills. The trick is to really enjoy it. He loves it too much not to be good at it. Getting Dean’s thick cock into his mouth is going to be a joy. 

Cas slides his hands under Dean’s thighs and grips his hips to keep him spread open and grounded, pulling sharply to get him right where he wants. Dean’s eyes are glued to him, lust-blown pupils swallowing the mossy green. 

He licks up the underside of the shaft with a flat tongue, brushing little flicks over the frenulum before swirling his tongue over the velvety head and sucking the whole shaft into his mouth. A deep groan comes from Dean. Cas can feel it on his tongue. 

He glides down and back a few times, getting lost in the texture and taste of him. He hears Dean’s breathing turn ragged, sees his hands gripping the sheets tightly. Cas pulls off momentarily and guides Dean’s hands off the bed and into his hair. 

“Don’t push too hard, but you can pull and guide me.” 

Dean drags his fingers through Cas’s inky hair as he resumes. Soft and cool under his fingers, hot, wet suction on his cock. Sensations are layering, fighting for attention. This feels too good to be believable. 

He feels Cas cup his balls, rolling them gently as he continues worshiping Dean’s cock. That’s the only way to describe it. Cas is ardently licking and sucking every inch of him as if this is the answer to all his questions. Dean’s heart swells along with his dick. Seeing Cas, his prince, so content to suck him down is pushing him to the edge. 

He throws his head back and pants, inadvertently tugging on Cas’s hair in the process. When he hums in satisfaction, it echoes along his shaft and Dean is done. 

“Oh, god. Cas, baby. I’m gonna come.” 

Instead of pulling away, Cas groans and pulls him in tighter. Dean panics. He can’t stop. He’s crested the wave and it’s inevitable. Cas still doesn't move away. 

“Cas!” he shouts. “Baby, I can’t-fuck!” 

The pulses of hot cum hit his tongue, and Cas feels his own cock pulse in sympathy, dribbling out sticky pre-cum. He swallows every drop greedily, then licks Dean contentedly through the aftershocks. 

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean apologizes, sounding ashamed. 

Cas shushes him and crawls up his body to lay in his arms. “I didn’t pull away because I wanted to taste you, sweetheart. I've wanted to feel you cum on my tongue for a very long time.” 

Dean is amazed. “Really?” 

"Does it bother you?" 

"No. It’s really fucking sexy, to be honest. I just never thought anyone would want to do that." 

“I definitely want to.” The heat in his eyes makes Dean’s heart skip. 

Cas grabs his chin gently to guide him back to his lips. “Here, Dean. Taste how delicious you are,” he says before he takes him into a deep, searching kiss. 

Dean whimpers into his mouth as their tongues glide together. He gets a faint earthy flavor, but nothing strong. Even the thought of trading his cum back and forth with Cas is blistering his brain. Knowing that Cas willingly drank him down and then shared it with him might send him into cardiac arrest. 

“Hmmm. You like that, don’t you, Dean?” Dean can only nod and sigh. 

“I confess that I’ve always had an obsession with cum play, but I’ve never indulged in it. It’s not something I would do with someone I’m not in a relationship with.” 

Cas is still achingly hard and though he had thought to give Dean some time to recuperate, the topic of conversation has him more than a little aroused. When he shifts, Dean notices. 

Dean wiggles the fingers of his left hand and smirks. “If you come over to this side, I can help you with that.” 

“I have a better idea.” Cas helps him sit up and then slides into his lap. He wraps his legs around Dean’s back, squeezing him in close. They are chest to chest, and with a little shifting, Cas has their cocks lined up. At their first touch, Dean sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh fuck, that feels amazing.” 

Cas grins at him. “Just wait, it gets much better.” 

Dean is still soft, but the friction is getting his cock interested quickly. Cas holds them loosely together, but he’s content waiting for Dean. 

“What made you draw the line there?” 

“Pardon?” 

Dean chuckles. That was a bit of a non-sequitur, even without the distracting man rubbing his cock on him. 

“You drew the line for what you would only do in a relationship. I’m curious about why that is the line.” 

Cas is dripping pre-cum now, which he smoothes along Dean’s shaft before grabbing the man’s hand. “Hold us tight, sweetheart.” 

Cas drapes one arm over Dean’s good shoulder, tangling his hand in his hair. With a little roll of his hips, he thrusts his cock against Dean’s. With the pressure Dean is exerting, the fit is tight and they both moan. After a few more slow thrusts interspersed with slick kisses, Cas finally gives the reins over to Dean to let him control the pace. 

“To answer your question,” he says breathily as he leans his forehead to Dean’s, “I find it a very personal thing. Cum is a part of you that you give to me. I want to keep every part of you that I can have because I care about you.” 

Cas is more affected by the feel of Dean’s hand on him than he thought possible. He’s spiraling up, rocking into his grip. If Dean’s panting is anything to go on, he’s not the only one. 

Cas continues his explanation before words become impossible. “It’s possessive, but more like worship. It’s reverent, like communion." 

Dean’s moan punches out at his words. "Oh, fuck. I'm pretty sure we're going to hell for that, Cas." 

With an evil leer, Cas denies, “I don't think so, I'm prepared to be very devout. I’ll take communion whenever you’re willing to give it to me." 

"Cas, seriously. I'm looking for stray lightning bolts." 

Cas takes his mouth again, kisses deepening as their pace speeds. When he needs to breathe, he praises, “Fuck, Dean. Your hand feels so good. I love your rough hands.” 

Dean can’t believe he is feeling so frantic already. “Damn, Cas. I can’t wait until I can really get my hands on you. I want to touch every inch of your gorgeous skin.” 

“I’m close, baby. You’ve got me so close.” Cas’s eyes slip closed and he lets his head fall back. 

Dean’s tuned in to every expression crossing his beautiful face. This is the first orgasm he is giving to his prince. He isn’t going to miss seeing what he looks like in the midst of it. Dean redoubles his efforts to push him over the edge. 

Cas gasps and looks down at Dean. “Here it comes, baby. All for you.” 

On the next stroke, Cas shouts, “Fuck, yes! Dean. Oh god, Dean.” 

Dean chokes on the prickling wave of lust that sweeps over him while watching his prince, his Cas, given over to pleasure. He is writhing on Dean’s lap, trembling and lost in the seismic waves. 

“Oh fuck,” Dean’s orgasm is triggered as soon as Cas’s cock pulses its first ribbon of white against his skin. 

Cas leans down for a kiss, but is stopped by the awe on Dean’s face. His lovely guard whispers, “You are so beautiful.” 

Cas kisses him through their aftershocks and well into the afterglow. When he finally slides off of Dean’s lap to rest on the bed beside him, he can’t help but touch the streaks of white on Dean’s belly. 

"Cas, what are you doing?" 

"Combining our cum." 

"Do I want to know why?" 

"Why do you think?" 

Cas leans over and licks it from his stomach. "I'm taking communion, Dean. I told you, I'm very devout."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love hearing from you! Comments are welcome and appreciated.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	16. They Will Never Find Me Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the boys getting together, they figure out how things will change for them both. 
> 
> Jealousy, revelations, and lots of oral...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't full of much angst, just Cas and Dean enjoying each other's "company"...
> 
> Enjoy!

Castiel is allowing himself a quiet moment to bask in the joy of having Dean sleep curled around him. His head is laying over his chest, arm thrown over his abdomen. Cas feathers his fingers through chaotic hair with affection. He’s sure his looks worse after Dean used it to hold him in place while giving him head.

He hears the door open and close quietly, so it must be at least seven in the morning. No one would dare rouse him before then. He glances down to make sure Dean is covered. His nudity is not for anyone else’s eyes.

Luke pokes his head through the curtained entry. “You’re up, good.”

Cas shares a lazy smile with him. “Good morning, brother.”

Luke leans against the mantle, takes in the scene in front of him and gives Cas a knowing look. “So, the rumors are true.”

“There can’t be rumors already,” Cas scoffs.

“Oh, yes there are.” Luke grins maniacally, “They’re good ones, too.

“It’s been less than a day!” 

Cas’s emphatic whisper causes Dean to shift. Cas rubs his back softly to settle him. Luke catches the tender gesture and raises an eyebrow but refrains from commenting.

“Apparently, the whole castle heard you two trying to consume each other on your way back here last night.”

He knew they weren’t exactly quiet, but there’s no way that they caused that much of a spectacle, even if they had been completely caught up in each other. Cas leans his head back in exasperation. “How bad is it?”

Luke chuckles. “Some of the staff think you drugged him, and they are concerned for his safety.”

Cas groans, “For fuck’s sake.”

“Others think that Winchester is after the throne and using you to get into the line of succession.”

“That isn’t even possible.”

“Hey, I didn’t say they were intelligent rumors. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I think the best one I heard is that you are actually an incubus and have your poor guard under your spell. Apparently, he broke free last night and you two fought until you subdued him.”

Castiel is speechless. “Are you screwing with me?”

“No, brother. There is a lot of chatter.”

“Dean is going to hate this.”

From his place snuggled against Cas’s chest, Dean interrupts, “Dean’s not an idiot. He understands that gossip is inevitable.”

Cas leans down to kiss him good morning, and Dean finally opens his eyes with a smile. “Is it bad that my first reaction is to make up all kinds of ridiculous stories to make it worse?”

"I would expect nothing less, sweetheart.” They can’t take their eyes off each other, and drift forward for more delicate kisses. 

Luke snickers and shakes his head at their sappiness. “Ugh. Disgusting! I’m leaving.” 

Despite the outward grumblings, Luke is thrilled for Castiel. His decision to move back to Bucharest finally feels right. Knowing that his brother is making himself indispensable to the Privy Council helped, but now, seeing him so in love? He has great hope for the future of the Cuza family.

“Goodbye, Luke,” Cas says without taking his eyes from Dean. 

Dean tells him quietly, “We do need to discuss how to handle this.”

“How would you like to handle it, Dean? I’ll support whatever you want our public story to be.”

Dean lights up with a mischievous grin, “I think I like the incubus story. That really brings me the sympathy of – ouch! Don’t pinch.”

“Don’t be a brat, then.”

“Seriously, neither of us have ever had to explain our relationships, and I don’t think we should have to start now.” 

Dean sees the twinge of disappointment in Cas’s eyes before he gets hold of it. Cas thinks he wants to hide their relationship. That was not his intention at all, and it won’t do to let Cas feel hurt of any kind. 

“But I really don’t want to keep what I feel for you secret every time we’re out of this room. I want to be able to touch you without concern for people who honestly don’t matter to me.”

Cas smiles then, content with Dean’s explanation. “There will be some situations that call for discretion, but yes, I tend to agree.” 

Dean pulls himself up and over the prince, straddling his hips and grinding down, eager to be consumed again by his lust for this alluring man. 

Cas pouts playfully and gives a counterpoint thrust up into Dean. “Besides, I’ve had to keep my hands to myself for too many months. It’s not fair to ask me to continue.”

Dean chuckles. “If you don’t put that lip away, I’m going to bite it.”

“Mmm. Please do.”

 

*****

 

Cas frowns at the door to the Grand Parlor. Less than a day, and already he and Dean are forced out of bed and back to work. Shouldn’t they be given a honeymoon period to ignore the rest of the world while they slake their lust with each other? What is the use of being royalty is it doesn’t give him the ability to command his own time? 

“I’ll be right here if you need anything, Cas.” Dean stands close, letting him feel radiated heat and the tingly charge of his proximity.

Cas fists his hands to keep them at his sides. They had agreed that while Dean is on active guard duty, they would not show open affection. At the time, it sounded like a viable line to draw in the sand. Now, however, he wants to occupy the rest of the space between them, taste his guard’s mouth. ‘Control, Castiel’, he reminds himself. ‘You will not fail the first test of your self-control.’

“You shouldn’t extend such a carte blanche offer, Dean. There are so many things I need from you.”

Dean gives him a stern look, “Behave.”

Cas smirks, but steps back. “I should only be an hour or two. You can wander. I doubt I’ll be in much danger in the castle.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t need to remind you that violent things can happen anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

He sits down at a little table in the foyer, directly across from the door. A chess board sits on top, abandoned mid-game. Once Cas disappears into the room, he resets the board, happy for a distraction to fill his time. 

He is a few games in when a body drops dramatically into the chair across from him. Dean looks up only with his eyes and wishes that he hadn’t given the intruder even that much acknowledgement. He is a friend of Castiel’s, but Dean doesn’t know his name. What he does know is what kind of stroke he likes best on his dick, that he likes to be fucked, and the sounds he makes when he orgasms. This is not knowledge Dean wants. In fact, if there was a way to scrub it away, he would gladly take whatever pain it would cause. Being confronted by others who have had sex with Castiel is painful. Being confronted by those who Dean has watched Cas have sex with is downright torturous.

The man stares with the arrogance of royalty. He awaits recognition by his inferior, and Dean isn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Honestly, he would rather lick the floor of a brothel clean than speak one word to this man. 

Apparently, ignoring him just piques his ire. Petulantly, he reaches to pick up one of the chess pieces. Dean’s reflexes are lightning quick, and he has the man’s arm pinned before he can touch the board. Dean glares and shakes his head.

“Oh, aren’t you a violent thing. No wonder Cassie is smitten with you.”

Cassie? What is he, a Pekinese? Dean studiously ignores the bait.

When that doesn’t get a rise out of him, the man leans in a bit, as if they are sharing a great secret. “He has always liked it rough.”

Dean’s had enough of this prick, so he commands, “You’d do well to remember who you’re speaking about so boldly. He is a prince, and you will treat him with respect.”

An ostentatious laugh rolls through the corridor. “Cassie and I have been friends for years. We don’t stand on ceremony.” The man looks Dean up and down, no doubt calculating his worth. Finally, he extends a hand. “I am Adrian Rotaru.”

Dean steels himself before taking it. “Dean Winchester.”

“Yes, we all know who you are.” 

It should sound complimentary. The man might even mean it that way. Instead, it comes off smarmy and dripping with sordidness. ‘We’ as in, all of us belong here and you don’t. The intent is to remind him that he is an outsider, and that they know all they need to know about him based on some gossip.

Adrian fidgets in the silence, and he has to fill it. 

“Would you like to play?”

“I am playing.” To emphasize his point, he leans over to the other side of the board and moves a piece. 

“By yourself?”

Dean gives him a condescending look. “I find a better caliber of opponent that way.”

Adrian sours at the taunt and leans back in his chair. He taps a finger on the table, seeming to contemplate. “Yes, violent, arrogant, and built like a Greek god. I can see why he’s been working so hard to get you into bed.” The tapping continues. “I wonder how long that will last once he’s claimed his prize?”

Dean doesn’t react except to clench his jaw. He recognizes by Adrian’s smugness that he gave away too much.

“I’d string him along for a while if I were you. The sooner he fucks you, the sooner he will move on, and he almost never gives a repeat performance.”

It sounds like friendly advice, like they are comrades, but Dean hears the razors in his words. They are meant to create doubt, to undermine. Damn if he isn’t hitting all of Dean’s insecurities. Adrian might be an aristocratic asshole, but he’s smart. 

“I’m not concerned about where Castiel’s loyalties lie.”

He huffs out a laugh. “It’s not a question of his loyalty, Dean. He will be loyal...until his eye wanders off on a new adventure, a new conquest. I’ve seen it happen over and over again. He will sweep in with his intensity and passion and take over your world. Being at the center of his storm is a transcendent experience.”

Adrian pats his hand, so condescending that Dean has to fight the urge to throw his hand off. “He won’t mean to hurt you, but he will lose interest when someone shiny and new comes along.”

Dean swallows around the vise grip of fear. He tries for bravado. “Sounds like someone’s bitter about being cast aside.”

For a moment, just for the briefest of instants, Adrian’s mask falls, and Dean sees the seething hatred and jealousy beneath. This man is more dangerous than Dean originally thought. Strong emotions breed a level of crazy that can’t be accounted for. 

“He will never cast me aside,” he sneers emphatically. “I’ve been riding his cock for years, and as soon as this ridiculous infatuation is out of his system, that’s where I’ll be again.”

As soon as the malicious words stab at Dean’s heart, Adrian storms away, leaving him to bleed out, if not in peace, then in quiet.

 

*****

 

Mid-sentence, Castiel catches a look on Dean’s face that steals his attention. He is standing in crisp parade rest, back stiff and jaw tight. The other man already forgotten except for the briefest of courtesies, Cas withdraws, “If you’ll excuse me, boyar?”

Once the others are a distance away, Cas touches Dean's arm, and that is all that is needed to move him. “May I be relieved of duty?”

Cas furrows his brow. “What happened, Dean? What has you so upset?”

“Please just answer the question.”

“Of course.”

The prince’s permission snaps his restraints, and Dean pulls Cas to him in a desperate embrace. He tips his lover’s face up to be consumed by a heated kiss. His hands are grasping, mouth frenzied, and Cas feels every cell of his body respond. He is utterly in his thrall. Dean’s lips are still the stuff of legends, and Cas has no qualms with basking in their attention. When they emerge for air, Cas tips his head against Dean’s. 

“Not that I’m complaining about that welcome, because I’m absolutely not, but what happened, sweetheart?”

“I missed you,” he tries to play coy.

“Dean,” Cas warns in return. 

Dean almost growls his answer, as if he is angry with himself. “Nothing, I just let that asshole get to me, and I needed a little reassurance.”

Cas is astonished by his brutal honesty. “Thank you for telling me. Now, what asshole are you referring to?”

Dean kisses his nose and takes his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’m content, you’re done with your meeting, and we can go back to your chambers.”

“After dinner,” he apologizes. 

Dean sighs. “Fine. After dinner.”

The prince is having an impossible time keeping up his conversational duties at the dinner table. No one is saying anything one iota as interesting as what is going on in his own head. 

He’s noticed things about Dean that are leading him to believe that he just might be naturally submissive. On the surface, it seems rather ridiculous. Just look at the man. Nothing about the strong, fearless soldier screams ‘bend me to your will’. When he started looking deeper, though, he found strong indicators. He has been trying to rein in his enthusiasm about the idea. He didn’t want to put too much stock in conjecture, only to be disappointed. He’s been observing for months, but now that they are in a relationship, it is becoming much more apparent. 

His job, as a soldier or guard, is to serve. Whether it is natural or trained behavior, Dean obeys beautifully. Unless the order goes counter to his beliefs, he does not question or complain. He just obeys without thought. Now that he thinks about it, though, he remembers Luke telling him that Dean challenged every command Michael gave him and refused to drop his eyes. So, his obedience to Castiel has always been willing. The pace of his breath kicks up at the realization. What he wouldn’t give to have the incredible man, his Dean, submit to him. He sets his fork down as his hand starts to tremble. 

Cas has teased out another piece of his puzzle, and now he is infatuated with the picture it is forming. Aligning his other evidence with this new realization has his heart galloping. Dean adores praise. He thrives on it, in fact. He loves to be challenged, too. Besides sparring matches and his daily chess games, Dean lives to beat any type of mental or physical challenge. He is the most responsive, enthusiastic lover Cas has ever known, even without experience. He is honest about his insecurities and needs, which is absolutely necessary when playing with any power dynamic. He took to orgasm delay nicely and even hinted at a penchant for playing with pain. This evening the final piece was set in place. Dean was feeling off, so without being told, he waited in position to be given permission to take the comfort he needed. 

Cas feels Dean’s eyes on him. They are weighty, and he can’t help but glance over at his beautiful guard. Intensity keeps his eyes from sliding away. Cas feels it like a caress across his skin. He can tell by the furrow in his brow that Dean recognizes his uncharacteristic silence and is trying to determine the cause. Cas feels mischievous, so he lets his eyes pool with liquid heat and slowly licks his lips. Dean sucks in a breath. Cas brings a bite of his abandoned food to his mouth. With the spoon still in his mouth, he closes his eyes and slides it back out, licking it clean. He opens his eyes to see a feral man devouring him with his eyes. Dean’s head is tipped down, arm’s loose and feet spread; a predator’s stance. Even his nostrils are flared. Cas shivers at the sensation of so much animalistic lust focused on him. 

The prince makes his apologies, feigning a headache, and leaves the hall. When the door shuts behind him, he starts to turn toward Dean, but he is halted in an iron grip. Right by his ear, Dean murmurs, “If you don’t want me to suck you off in this hallway, you will walk with your eyes forward all the way back to your chambers. Quickly.”

Cas feels a thrill rush down his neck. “Promise?”

“Castiel, don’t fuck with me right now.”

“Fine. I’m going.” Cas does as Dean commands but puts an extra sway into his hips as he walks. “Can I at least talk to you?”

Dean grunts. He’s aware of Cas’s mood, but with the rumors already flying around, he is not going to be pulled into his snare and make them worse.

“What’s your plan when that door shuts, Dean?” 

“I already told you my plan.”

“I thought I might have been dreaming.”

“You like that idea, sweetheart?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve wanted those perfect lips split open on my cock since the day we met.” Cas tries to peek over his shoulder at Dean but is caught immediately.

“Cas,” Dean warns. “Keep walking.”

“What put this lovely idea in your head?”

“How could I be thinking about anything else after last night?”

Cas hums, and Dean starts to pick up the pace, crowding in behind him.

They barely make it through the door before Dean has Cas in his arms. In one swift motion, he lifts him up and Cas tightens his legs around his waist. He’s shaking with anticipation, drunk with lust. He can’t think of anything except getting rid of everything separating them, especially the clothes keeping him from touching Cas’s skin. 

Cas is being swept away. Dean is a rain-swollen river, all urgent speed, frothing whitecaps, and hidden dangers. He drops onto their bed and watches intently as every article of his guard’s clothing is ripped away. 

“Why aren’t you naked yet?” Dean’s already breathless.

“I can’t tear my eyes away. You’re so perfect, Dean.”

Dean preens under his appreciative gaze. He flexes his pectoral muscles to show off with a laugh. He might be playing around, but strength is a turn on to Cas, and Dean is powerfully built. He sits up and pulls Dean to the edge of the bed by his hips. His mouth reaches up to his chest, and he reverently drops kisses along the firm pads of muscle. Dean skates his hands up and down Cas’s arms, but the movement is jittery.

“You aren’t nervous, are you?” Cas asks quietly.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Dean chuckles. “But I want you more, and I want to do this for you.”

“If you decide you want to stop, please do. I don't want you doing anything that you aren't enthusiastic about. This is not a performance." 

Dean clears his throat. “I don’t know if I can, uh, do what-”

“Swallow?” Cas interrupts. Dean nods his head with a sweet blush. 

“I want to try, but...”

“Why don’t we just take that off the table? At least this time, I don’t want you to even consider it as an option.”

Cas knows he’s said the right thing when Dean relaxes perceivably. He bites his lip and looks up under the cover of his lashes. 

"Would you be okay with me coming on you instead?"

"Um...okay? Why?"

"It's possessive. I'm marking you as mine." 

Dean’s brow is furrowed. "You'll let me wash it off eventually, right?"

Cas laughs. “Of course, draga. As soon as we feel like moving.”

Dean smiles and helps discard the prince’s clothing amidst shy smiles and petting touches. When he is naked, Dean starts to kneel, and Cas seizes up. “No, no. Dean. Don’t-” 

Cas lets out a rough breath. “Come up here.”

Cas slides to the head of the bed, so he is leaning against the headboard, legs spread in invitation. Dean is scowling at him. 

“What is it with you and kneeling?” he asks suspiciously. 

“We’ll talk about that another time.”

Dean stares and comes to a decision. “Tonight. That’s the second time you’ve lost your shit about it, and I want to know why.”

Cas sighs. “Fine. But I want your mouth on me first.” He bites his lip suggestively.

Dean takes a deep, steadying breath as he knee-walks up to sit between Cas’s legs. He knows that this shouldn’t be as troubling as he’s making it out to be. He has a dick. He knows how to make himself come. He knows how to make Cas come using his hands. He received a shattering orgasm from Cas’s mouth just last night. He has all of the information he needs to make this at least pleasurable. 

But.

He’s never touched a dick with his mouth. Now that the expectation of Cas coming in his mouth is taken away, he feels much more settled about that. 

But.

Cas has the biggest cock he’s ever seen. No, there haven’t been many to compare it to, just the random glance toward his fellow soldiers that couldn’t be helped in such tight quarters. Cas, though, is thick, long, and uncut. It’s intimidating.

“Would you like some direction, sweetheart?”

Dean nods, trying not to fall into hysterical laughter. “Yeah, I think I would.”

Cas smiles warmly, “Start with your hands. You’re so good at touching me, Dean. You make me feel how much you want me.”

Dean’s hands move over Cas’s legs, smoothing over the muscles in his thighs. He grips and squeezes them, letting his fingertips speak for him. When he slides his thumbs down into the juncture of his groin, Cas tips his head back. 

He slides his legs out behind him to lay on his belly, resting one arm across Cas’s hips while the other keeps up the rubbing caress. He leans in, getting his mouth closer to the twitching cock. When he takes a tentative lick along the shaft, he looks up to see Cas’s eyes are on him, pleading. Cas’s skin is soft, velvety over the hot hardness beneath. The texture of the head is softer, and Dean can’t help but close his lips over it. Dean hears a broken sound come from Cas. 

His eyes slip closed as he focuses on the textures and tastes of his prince. He licks down the shaft, feeling every bump. That exotic spicy smell is concentrated, like everything about Cas is distilled here, more potent. Damn, he even tastes good.

His nerves are giving way to his desires, and this time, Dean licks and sucks up to Cas’s head slowly, seductively, while keeping his eyes on him. Cas is affected, panting breaths and grip tight in the sheets. 

“Fuck, you are gorgeous like this, Dean.”

Dean rubs his lips back and forth at the base of the head, right in the spot that always makes him shiver. Ah. It makes Cas shiver, too. What a beautiful sight. He repeats the teasing motion with his tongue. Cas groans and breathes out some creatively obscene Romanian. 

“I thought you were going to instruct me, Cas.” Dean teases as licks around the underside of his head. 

Cas manages to praise him in between sighs. “You’re doing quite fine on your own, baiat dulce.”

Dean lets the tip pop between his lips, keeping firm pressure. The resulting sound from Cas reverberates through his body. Dean can feel it in his mouth, which pulls a moan from him. Fuck, that is so sexy. He slides down a bit more, feeling the girth of Cas invade his mouth. He is surprised to find that he likes that idea. He slides down more, but suddenly gags. He pulls back, breathing harshly.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, don’t try to take so much.” Cas pets his hair, smiling. 

“I wanted to, I just-”

“You can train yourself not to gag, but it takes time.”

Dean’s look of interest warms him. “Is that why you didn’t gag?”

“Yes, and I can take you much deeper than I did last night.”

“How?”

Cas reaches forward and strokes Dean’s throat with light fingers. “I can push you into my throat and swallow around you. It is so tight, Dean. The pressure is unreal.”

Dean’s confusion turns to a flair of heat that shows in a deep blush that reaches his chest. He looks back at Cas’s cock with intent. “How do I train myself not to gag?”

Cas smiles with pride and a prickle of anticipation. He knew that Dean would see this as a challenge to tackle. He could sense that he would be Dean’s practice toy until the man could successfully deep throat him. Oh, lucky, lucky him. 

“Most of it is a mental barrier. You aren’t used to something getting to the back of your mouth. Slide me along your tongue so that you feel where I am and breathe through your nose.”

Dean huffs out a steadying breath and then takes Cas back into his mouth. He does exactly as Cas says, and he is able to get him deeper this time. He sinks deeper with each pass until he feels a tickle and tries to keep from gagging. 

“That’s probably enough for now, Dean. Don’t push too hard, draga. It takes practice.”

Dean is frustrated that his body won’t allow him what he wants, but he needs to focus. This is for Cas, and he is patiently waiting. Dean continues his reverent licking and slipping down Cas’s cock with enthusiasm.

“Use your hand at the base. Squeeze me tight, love.”

Dean complies without thought. He is able to get a good rhythm going between his hand and mouth, and he can hear the results in Cas’s erratic breathing. He absolutely loves hearing Cas lose control. There have been so few times, that each one seems magical, a treasure. He wants this one, and he ardently chases it. 

“Suck hard, the pressure will get me there,” Cas breathes.

Dean creates a vacuum in his mouth, and the look of agony on Cas’s face makes Dean moan. Cas’s breath hitches, and he sighs, “Oh fuck, Dean. I’m close.”

Dean thought those words would scare him. Instead, they spur him on. He sucks hard, slides his tongue up to swirl around the head. In no time, Cas pushes him away and takes over.

“Where, sweetheart? Where do you want me?”

Dean is panting, lust drunk and addicted. He rubs the center of his chest without taking his eyes from Cas, who nods and keeps stroking his cock. He tugs Dean closer to him, leans his head down on his thigh as he digs fingers into his hair.

“Come on, baby. Come for me, Cas,” Dean encourages, struggling to stay where Cas put him. He wants to put his hands on him, get closer and taste him, but he stays. 

Dean’s pleading sends him over the edge, and he watches in awe as he paints ribbons of white across Dean’s flushed chest. His pulse pounds in his ears as waves of ecstasy shake him. He can hear Dean moan over the relentless beat. “Oh, god. Yes, Cas! Fuck.” 

Dean can feel his own cock twitch and spurt pre-come as he watches Cas claim him. He sees the appeal now. He wants to wear this claim as a badge of honor. This unbelievably perfect man wants him. His fingers move to rub into the pearly liquid. It is warm, messy, and Dean has never been more turned on. Fuck. Apparently, Cas isn’t the only one with a come fetish. He drags a finger through the puddle on its way over to rub against his peaked nipple. 

Oh, goddamn. That has to be the single sexiest thing Cas has ever seen. He can’t keep his hands off of Dean for another second. He growls and manhandles the man down to his back, practically sinking into the body beneath him. Their kisses are deep, sated and still yearning. Dean whimpers into his mouth as he ruts against Cas’s hip. 

“Need you, Cas.”

Even as he hears the broken plea, he is descending, salivating at the thought of wrecking Dean with his mouth again. “I know, baby. I’m here.”

When his mouth covers Dean, he seizes up in shock with rigid muscles and a tight grip in his ebony hair. Cas holds his hips down with one arm, while stroking through his come, still on Dean’s chest. His lazy touch rubs it into his skin possessively as he takes Dean apart with his mouth. 

Dean only has a moment to settle into the feeling before Cas pushes deeper. The pressure takes his breath away. The urgency of his desire explodes, leaving Dean shaking and begging for release. “Cas, baby. Oh, fuck. This is-”

Broken syllables are left in the air as Dean crashes into orgasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	17. îndrăgostit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heals, they have a long-awaited talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm putting my notes at the end this time.  
> No spoilers.

Cas is watching Dean from the comfort of a shaded table in the garden. His golden warrior is training with the guards for the first time since he sustained his injuries, and he is frustrated by his progress. Never mind that the physician told him not to push himself too hard or that it was two weeks earlier than he is supposed to be using his wrist. Cas has to pick his battles with his proud and exceedingly stubborn love. Dean will be intolerable until he tries to swing a sword with his wrist and lift a rifle to his damaged shoulder.

Cas holds a book to mask his interest, but he could be hiding behind a rock for all the attention he’s paying it. He smirks when he hears another volley of English vitriol. A few of the guards flinch at the sound, confusion passing between them. Better them than him. Normally, he adores Dean’s fire, his intensity in almost any form. He’s the only one in the castle that doesn’t shrink from his mercurial moods. But this restless, pent up version of Dean is a little too much even for him.

It isn’t until Dean’s grip is getting loose from strain and his arm shakes from the atrophied muscles being pushed past their endurance that he signals his co-conspirator to head for the stables. He saunters into the yard, looking like he just happened to arrive as Dean was nearing his limits. 

“Hello, Dean,” he smiles. 

Dean scowls darkly at him. A lift of an imperious brow and Dean remembers his manners. 

“Sorry, Cas. You know I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

Cas sidles up close to him, speaking softly so that the others cannot overhear. “You know there are several things that I don’t mind you taking out on me, but your foul mood is not one of them.”

Dean chuckles and hands the sword over to the closest guard. Just like that, his mood greatly improves. Cas is his touchstone, his comfort. “Let me start again. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Cas blinds him with an excited grin, catching his fingers loosely with Dean’s. “I thought we might go for a ride.”

“You know that has a completely different meaning to me now,” he replies with sweet innuendo. 

“Yes, I was hoping it might.”

“How can I resist that offer?” Dean winks and squeezes his hand.

As they walk away, they hear grumbling from behind them. 

“Hey, Winchester! Are you forgetting something?” Ion calls.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“We’re in the middle of training!”

Dean turns back to them with mock sincerity and gestures to Cas. “Sorry, duty calls.” 

Cas smiles at the other guards’ looks of disgust. “Do you think they understood you meant guard duty and not your…other duties?”

Dean’s eyes go comically wide and he flushes deeply. Cas can’t help but snicker. “That ought to lay a lot of rumors to rest, sweetheart,” he pats Dean on the shoulder in sympathy.

 

*****

Their spot by the lake has less snow than Cas had imagined, but a lovely sparkling blanket surrounds the still water. Their horses frisk about in it once their cargo is unloaded. Cas isn’t worried. Raz would never wander out of earshot. 

Dean clears a large spot on an outcropping of rocks and lays a thick layer of blankets and furs on it. Cas, as usual, has thought of every detail. It is almost as cozy as their bed, but the view is much more picturesque. Jutting out over the water, it appears as if they are resting on the lake beneath them, and the entire mountain range stands in front of them. Spectacular, rugged beauty. 

Cas sets down a full basket of food and wine in front of him, courtesy of Meg. The woman is so thankful for Dean’s rescue that all Cas has to say is that he wants to do something nice for Dean, and she flies into action. She goes so overboard that they could strand themselves out here for days and still come home with plenty. Now that he thinks of it, that isn’t such a terrible idea. 

On their way to the stables, they had heard a nasty bit of news. Alastair had disappeared on his transport to Bucharest. No one is sure whether he escaped or was killed; the entire party had just vanished. Dean’s mood had plummeted, soured by the thought of his tormentor, and a dangerous threat to his prince, breathing free air.

“I feel so fucking helpless. Even if I never left your side, I can’t promise that he can’t get through me.”

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous. If he did escape, and that is a big if, he isn’t going to risk a three-day ride to come back to the one place that is most definitely searching for him. Freedom is worth more to him than his petty vendetta.”

Dean huffs and runs a hand down his face. “We shouldn’t have come out this far. We don’t have any backup.”

“Look at me, Dean. Stop worrying. You are the only one I’ve ever brought here. As far as I know, no one else knows this lake exists. We are safer here than if we were snuggled up in our chambers with a guard at the door.”

Dean seems to relax a bit at that thought. Cas starts to spread out some of the food, but watches the cloud come back over Dean’s face. He is worrying his lip, fidgeting, and not paying attention to their conversation. Cas grabs his chin and stares at him. Dean has the good sense to look chagrined. 

With a very careful, somber tone, Cas asks him, “Will you do something for me, Dean?”

“Anything in my power,” Dean answers sweetly.

Cas caresses his cheek in praise. “I want you to give me your worries for an hour. Let me take care of you and trust that I can bear the weight of your concerns.”

“I can’t promise, but I will try,” he says in earnest. 

Dean is baffled by the request. It seems like such a strange thing to ask, and he asked it with such…weight. He’s missing something. He watches Cas carefully, hoping to discover his hidden purpose. 

Cas settles into the blankets, seated with his legs outstretched. He pats his lap and tells Dean to lie down. With his head pillowed on Cas’s thighs, Dean tries to relax. He feels fingers thread through the strands of his hair, calming him. But one look into Cas’s face, and all Dean can picture is Alastair sneering at him, promising him that Castiel will never be safe. 

“Dean, stop.”

He blinks away the image and focuses on the moment. Several more times, Dean slips away, and Cas pulls him back.

“I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously, Dean,” Cas chastises. 

Dean sits up and away from him. “Well, it’s a silly thing to ask, Cas.”

Castiel’s face goes stony. His eyes narrow at Dean. “Silly? Why is it silly to want to give you peace of mind?”

“Because you’re asking something impossible!” Dean knows he shouldn’t raise his voice. It’s rude and Cas is only trying to help. 

Cas snaps at him, “No, it’s quite possible, I assure you. I can make you do just about anything that I want you to, given the right punishments and rewards.” 

Those words ‘punishment’ and ‘reward’ feel ominous. Dean feels their importance in his gut.

“Punishment?” Dean lets the word hang there between them, leaden and drooping. Cas swallows hard and looks away. When he doesn’t reply, Dean prods him. “Cas?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Never mind. Would you like me to open the wine?”

Dean touches his arm and questions, “What did you mean by that, Cas?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to help calm your mind, that’s all.”

Dean feels that he’s disappointed Cas in some fundamental way by not doing what was asked of him. A knot of something oily and unctuous invades his chest.

“Cas, explain this to me. Please?”

Cas meets his eye but, for the first time in months, he looks scared. Dean lets him process what to say. He waits. “Dean, this is a very difficult discussion. I honestly don’t know if we’re ready to have it. What I want to talk to you about could do damage to us if we’re not on the same page or not ready. Do you understand?”

Dean answers honestly. “No, Cas, I really don’t. You can tell me anything.” 

Cas purses his lips, reluctance tight in their lines, but he speaks. “Have you ever heard of power dynamics in relationships?”

Dean’s brow furrows. “No.”

“Dominance and submission?”

“I know what the words mean...”

Cas links his fingers with Dean’s more to ground himself than anything else. He prays that his unorthodox fetishes will not scare him away. He brings their hands to his lips and kisses the tips of each finger on his big hands. “You may have noticed that I like control.”

Cas barely has the words out before Dean is laughing. At the withering look he receives, he clears his throat and apologizes sheepishly. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

The disapproving sound from Cas trails off and he continues, “Taking control is very soothing for me. I enjoy taking care of others, making sure that they have what is best for them.”

“So, you want to control our sex life? Don’t you do that already? I mean, you’re the only one who knows what they are doing.”

Dean doesn’t mean to be flippant, but he doesn’t know how else to deal with the strain between them. 

“Well, that’s part of it, sweetheart. It isn’t always sexual, but it can be. I’m what is called a dominant. I receive great satisfaction from being given authority over others and using that authority to challenge them.”

“So that makes me...”

Cas smiles. “It doesn’t have to make you anything, sweetheart. This is a part of my personality, something that I enjoy, but that is all.”

Dean isn’t fooled by Cas’s nonchalance. This is something that he wants. He wouldn’t be so affected by the topic and this conversation if it wasn’t important to him. Dean wants to just tell him that he already has his acceptance. He can’t imagine anything that Cas could ask that Dean would deny him. He should know what he is getting into before committing. That would be the smart idea, no matter what his heart tells him. 

“But what are you asking for, Cas? What do you want from me?”

Cas can keep delicately introducing Dean to the idea, or he can be bold and deserve what he is asking from Dean. 

“Ideally?” At Dean’s nod he continues, “I want your willing submission to me.”

Dean is astonished. He blinks back the shock of it. “You think I’m submissive?” 

“On the surface, I would never have imagined. The more I get to know you? Yes, I do.” 

The flush on Dean’s face is unfortunately not caused by desire. Cas knew this was a likely outcome of this discussion. Telling this man that he is a natural submissive is prickly business, especially since he doesn’t yet understand what it means. This is the result of being bold and outright asking for what he wants. He will suffer through Dean’s temper and then he can explain.

“What is it about me that screams meek and mild, Cas?” 

“Dean, that is not-” 

Dean is working up a good head of steam, feeling entitled to the righteous indignation and sarcasm. “Seriously, Castiel. I’d love to know what I did to show you such a weak underbelly. Was it when I let those guards handle me without a fight when they brought me here? Or perhaps how easily I gave up all of my secrets at the first hint of torture; torture that took days and days.” 

‘That’s it, Dean. Let it all out,’ Cas thinks. ‘The sooner you run out of fire, the sooner I can have you listening again.’

Dean isn’t getting the reaction he desires, so he hits below the belt. “Or maybe it was that I let you manipulate me into your bed?” 

“Enough!” Cas’s voice booms, startling Dean into silence for the moment. His breathing is still forced, and his nostrils are flared. Dean is spoiling for a fight, but Cas is going to show him what taking control looks like. He holds Dean firmly with the intensity of his gaze. 

“You will not speak to me that way, ever, but particularly when you are speaking out of complete ignorance, as you so aptly pointed out. If you would like to continue having an adult conversation, I will be happy to oblige you.” 

Dean’s eyes remain flinty and unyielding, but he stays quiet. Cas supposes that remorse is a little much to expect at this point. 

“As it applies to the power dynamics between two people, a submissive person is the one who accommodates the dominant by giving their obedience. Submission is a willing gift, Dean. It takes a great deal of mental and physical strength to deny one’s own will.” 

“So, you don’t want me to have a will of my own?” 

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Dean. Of course I want you to be completely you.” Cas lets out an exasperated sigh and runs hands through his hair. 

Dean crosses his arms over his chest, which Cas reads as the closed off posture it is. He pops a bite of dried plum into his mouth while he thinks. 

“You like to play chess, correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“What do you like about it?” 

Dean’s features soften marginally as he replies. “It’s a challenge. It makes me think and keeps me sharp. It’s a fun pastime.” 

“Alright, so think of the power dynamics like a game of chess. It’s fun, challenging, and it adds more...intensity.” 

Dean is definitely relaxing into the idea now, but he has so many questions. “Is this something that you can’t live without?” 

“Can you survive a day, a week, or even a year without playing chess?” 

“Of course.” 

“It’s the same way for me being a dominant. If it never happens again, I would miss it, but I would be fine.” 

“So, this isn’t a deal breaker for us?” 

“Of course not, Dean.” 

Dean is quiet for some time, mindlessly grazing on food as he contemplates. “You already dominate some situations, don’t you?” 

Cas tilts his head in question. Dean flashes a smile and explains. “Giving me direction when I masturbated for you, edging, coming on me. Those are all dominating behaviors, right?” 

Cas smiles proudly. “Yes, but other things as well.” 

“Like what?” 

“Hand feeding you, dressing you in my clothes, taking care of you during your injuries. Those are all dominating behaviors as well.” 

Confusion clouds Dean’s face. Cas tugs Dean’s hands gently until he follows and moves closer to Cas again. Cas smooths a hand over his cheek, letting touch reinforce their connection. “You are confusing dominance with aggression.”

He leans forward into Dean’s space, keeping his eyes on his all the way in. He presses a delicate kiss to his lips and then whispers against them. “This is just something to think about, sweetheart. Nothing has to be decided right now.” 

Dean, as always, lets Cas mesmerize him with his full, sensuous lips. There is something so achingly sweet about the gentle kisses that take him apart layer by layer and reveal the man beneath hs gruff exterior. Cas exposes his touch-starved desire to be the center of someone else’s universe, and then he fulfills that desire abundantly. 

Dean blinks slowly, already hazy in his lust. What were they talking about? 

“Will you let me show you more over time? I would like you to have a better understanding before you decide if it is something you like or not.” 

Oh right. Dominance. Submission. He nods his assent, still lost in Cas’s gravitational pull.

“Bine.” Cas praises softly. 

“Is that part of it, too?”

“What, draga?” Cas slides even closer, letting his fingers ruffle through his hair. 

Dean closes his eyes on a content exhale. “Praise. You do that a lot.”

“Yes, that is part of it, too. A good dominant finds what makes their submissive happy, and then they reward them with it often.” 

“And praise makes me happy?” 

Cas leans back a little. “Doesn’t it?”

He thinks back to how often Cas has showered him with praise. It lights him up from within, makes him glow with warmth. There might be more to this dominance thing than Dean originally believed. He has wondered how Cas can already know him so well, understands him at an almost soul-deep level. Maybe it is part of being dominant, being what Dean needs.

“I suppose you’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right,” Cas teases. 

“Is this why you won’t let me kneel around you? Is it involved somehow?” 

Cas nods, and cautiously explains. “Kneeling is like a pledge or an oath. I probably take it too seriously, but to me it signifies a promise of service and obedience. Seeing you on your knees, Dean, naturally makes my mind picture that type of relationship between us.” 

“So, you do want that with me.” 

“If you decide that you want it too, I would be thrilled to explore it with you. But you cannot make the decision for me. You must want it, too, or it will never work.” 

He isn’t intentionally trying to challenge Cas, but he was gathering information, and the questions are coming to him rapid fire. “Earlier, you were trying to settle my mind, but it didn’t work. Why?”

Cas chuckles, “That’s an easy one, Dean. You didn’t give me your obedience. Even though I asked you to give me your troubles, there wasn’t any repercussion if you didn’t.”

That word, repercussion, sounds an awful lot like punishment. He tries to imagine the same scenario if Cas had given him a consequence for not staying present in the moment. Okay, he can’t imagine what type of punishment could be handed out for that.

“What kind of ‘repercussion’ would you have enforced?”

The prince’s smile is not so nice this time. “Oh, there are hundreds to choose from. The key is to find what motivates.” Dean’s heart beat races at the wicked intent gleaming in Cas’s eyes. 

“And what would motivate me?”

Cas tilts his head, contemplating. “Hmm. A reward for you would definitely be sexual. The challenge, though, something touch-oriented.”

Dean is already squirming just from the process of Cas laying out vague possibilities. His belly is fluttering like it has wings of its own.

“Yes, I think that would work…”

Theoretically, he knows that the drawn-out reveal is designed to increase anticipation. It doesn’t make it any less effective on him. “What, Cas?”

“I think I would let you fuck me…if you could complete a challenge first.”

Dean’s jaw drops and his mouth goes Sahara dry. He wants that. Fucking hell does he want that. 

Cas pretends to look taken aback by his reaction; he even puts a dramatic hand to his chest. “Oh, is that something you want, sweetheart?”

Dean is salivating at the thought. He can only nod curtly while letting his mind race with his favorite fantasies. 

As Cas speaks, he leans in for a kiss with lust-filled eyes. “Can you picture it, Dean? Letting me ride your cock out here in the wild? Thrusting up so deep inside me, and filling me with your come?”

His tongue teases along Dean’s bottom lip. “Yeah, I want that, too, baby.”

“Can we? Please, Cas?” Dean pleads through panting breath.

“Oh, that’s entirely up to you, Dean. I’m going to give you a challenge. If you can do what I ask, I’m all yours,” Cas purrs.

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you don’t get to fuck me, and you don’t get to come today.”

There it is. There is the sting. There is the motivation. A primal thrill runs through him. Something elemental roars in his brain. He will do as he is asked. Obedience is an infinitesimal thing to offer in return.

Cas revels in the determination in Dean’s eyes. He knew that Dean would take to being challenged. A wolfish smile lifts his lips as he crowds into Cas’s space. “What is my challenge, Cas?” 

“I’m going to straddle you and jack off. If you can keep yourself completely still until I come, you win your reward. If you speak or move in any way, you lose.”

Dean’s brow furrows. That sounds difficult, but, knowing the payoff, he thinks he can do it. He has to do it. 

“So, what do you think, Dean? Want to try it?”

He can feel his fingers itching to touch Cas already. Maybe if he takes a little taste before they get started, it will take the edge off. He practically leaps at Cas, cobra-quick and just as deadly. He leans him down onto the furs gently despite the speed, and he covers every inch of his body with his own. He doesn’t kiss, he devours. His hands grip and hold Cas. When he pulls back, it is with a playful grin. “Absolutely.”

Cas is momentarily dazed by the passionate onslaught, but he recovers well. This is his first chance to really introduce Dean to submission. He has to be focused. Authority slips into his features easily. “Don’t think I didn’t recognize that little tactic for what it was, Dean.”

Dean smiles sheepishly. Cas doesn’t let him off the hook. “This is not a situation where you want to beg forgiveness instead of ask permission. You won’t like the results.”

Cas’s presence right now is commanding, stern, and a little terrifying. He isn’t sure how the prince does it, but it is definitely effective. He swallows hard. 

“Strip.”

Dean rushes to comply. He is so excited, so filled with anticipation, that the cold doesn’t even register. When he is completely bare, Cas directs him further. “Roll up that fur and lie down with your shoulders propped on it. I need you elevated a little.”

Cas watches his preparations while he very leisurely undresses, boots first, then coat. Dean is his captive audience, and he loves making him squirm. Every detail of this challenge is meant to push Dean’s limits. Cas will be watching him closely. He will make sure that Dean can complete it if he is trying. He will in no way let him think that is the case, however.

“You know, Dean, I was going to make this a quick little perfunctory orgasm. I wanted you to have an easy time of this challenge, since it is the first one.”

Cas drops his shirt over his shoulder and moves closer while untying the tie on his pants. Dean shakes his head. Ah. He caught the past tense. He loves how his lover’s brilliant mind works. Cas shushes him and continues. 

“Yes, Dean. You figured it out. That isn’t going to happen now. You took a shortcut, didn’t you? You took your fill of touches and kisses, trying to cheat me out of your actual struggle to obey.”

Dean feels a sinking in his chest. He didn’t want to cheat. He’s disappointed Cas already. He isn’t sure why that sends a lump into his throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, draga meu. You didn’t know the rules yet. But, when I ask for your obedience, I expect it to be freely given. Understood?”

Dean nods his head, not trusting his voice.

“When we play like this, communication is more important than ever. I need words, and I insist on absolute honesty.”

“Yes, I understand. Are there other rules I need to know?”

Cas pauses. “No, I think not. Not this time. This will be strenuous enough without adding other things to think about.”

Dean’s anxiety is ramping up. He can’t screw this up. He has been yearning for this opportunity. Ever since Cas talked him through the basics of anal sex, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. Cas had pretty much confirmed that he rarely, very rarely, was the receiving partner. He also didn’t want to rush Dean into anything, so they had taken it off the table for a while and had instead been enjoying other forms of sex. 

Now, though, Cas has finally brought it up. He’s finally offered. If Dean has to nail himself to this rock to keep himself in check, he will do it.

Cas, finally nude and incredibly hard, walks over Dean, and goes down on his knees at his chest level. Dean is confronted by his gorgeous cock, up close and within his reach. Dean could nudge his nose against the soft tip, could tongue that sticky-wet slit and lap up that concentrated flavor of Cas. Even with all of the cold, fresh air swirling between them, he keeps getting teasing whiffs of that spicy heaven that he wants to bury himself in. Damn. This is not going to be easy.

Cas brings a blanket over his shoulders, helping to block out the worst of the chill for them. He strokes himself a few slow times, looking into Dean’s face with needy eyes. “Put your palms on my thighs, Dean.”

“I thought I couldn’t touch?”

“I said you couldn’t move. Once I put you in position, you have to be still. No movement at all and no sounds.”

Dean carefully places his palms just above Cas’s knees. The look he receives makes him move them up higher. Cas nods when they are where he wants them. “Ready, sweetheart?”

His thumbs are only a few short inches from Cas’s hand as it moves along the shaft. Dean lets his eyes slip closed. Maybe if he isn’t watching, it will give him a layer of insulation.

Cas makes a little tsk sound. “Open your eyes, Dean. I want you to watch me.”

The sight of his gorgeous prince, bare and losing himself in pleasure is stunning. Dean wants to grip his thighs. He can’t. 

He wants to lick his lips. He can’t. 

He is trembling with the need to touch those pink lips with his own. And he can’t. 

Friction on his own heavy cock is also not an option.

Dean is going to lose his mind if he doesn’t think of something else. He focuses on the his most dreaded task at home. It isn’t mucking the stalls, plowing the fields, or any other filthy chore. It’s balancing the accounts. Lord, does he hate the tedium of accounting for each penny. He is breathing easier, and Cas notices.

“Dean, the purpose of this exercise is to keep your mind here in the present. Stay with me, please.”

Dean has to hold back a whimper. Cas is stroking himself with a steady grip, pulling groans of pleasure out of his chest. His face is flush with both exertion and the chill. His breathing kicks up and brings Dean’s along with it. 

“You’re absolutely the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, Dean. I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

The praise is doing its job, stoking the flames higher. Dean is trembling with the struggle to keep his hands perfectly still while Cas is writhing underneath them. 

Cas lets out a moan that sends a shiver through Dean’s body. Cas raises an eyebrow, and Dean stills immediately. His jaw is clenched tight, muscles straining. 

“Look at that restraint. You are so strong!”

He can handle the praise. It’s actually working to calm him, helping him stay focused on his goal. Once Cas starts talking, though, he knows what’s coming. He is brilliant with speaking all of the filthy things that cross his mind during sex. He can usually talk Dean over the edge when he is getting close to orgasm. Dean doesn’t think that he can handle it right now. Of course, that is exactly what he gets from him. 

“Fuck, Dean. You have no idea how hard it is for me to have your mouth so close and not feel it on me. I want you, baby.” 

Damn him. Cas looks lost in passion, but Dean recognizes that gleeful look of satisfaction in his eyes. He might mean everything he’s saying, but it is calculated to tease Dean until he snaps.

“If I pushed my thumb between those fuckable lips and pulled down, I could have you open for me without you even moving. I love seeing your mouth stretched around me, Dean. It’s obscene how wide I force you open. Could you keep still while I used your mouth? If I slid my big cock in and out of you, could you keep yourself from licking and sucking me? Could you remain passive?” 

Dean looks up at him with anguish clearly written on his face. “No? Would that be too much?”

Dean’s cock is leaking steadily; he can feel the drops bubbling out of the tip and sliding down. It tickles. With all of the other sensations assaulting him, it’s ridiculous that he can even register something so small, but that’s his own personal hell. 

There is a running dialogue in his head trying to keep him from grasping what he wants. ‘Focus on your prize, Dean. Think about what you will get to have if you can just hang on for a few more minutes. Don’t listen to Cas’s siren song.’

For the first time since this torture began, Cas lets his eyes slide closed, which means their intensity is no longer locked on Dean. The relief is immense. But short-lived.

“Oh god, Dean. I’m close. Fuck.” Dean is pretty sure that there is no more beautiful sight than Cas with his head tipped back, mouth open and panting. 

When he looks back down at Dean, he begs, “Can I come on your lips?”

Clever, clever, Cas. Dean can’t answer and he knows it. Dean hopes his answer of, ‘Yes! Please, yes!’ is obvious in his immovable expression. 

Dean watches Cas’s body lock up and feels the first pulse of come splash on his neck. Cas angles his cock, directing the rest to fall across his lips. There is enough of the pearly liquid to coat them and drip, drip, drip down his chin. 

Cas is sucking in deep breaths, but huffs out a laugh, “Damn, that is a gorgeous image.”

Dean isn’t sure what to do. Technically, he’s won the challenge. Cas came and Dean didn’t move. However, Cas is sneaky. He tried to trip him up several times. Dean is not about to lose now. He will remain in position until he’s told otherwise. 

Cas leans down to kiss him, but there’s no move to reciprocate. Dean hasn’t moved, not even a flinch since that one little involuntary shiver. He’s impressed. If the tables were turned, Cas would surely have failed. Dean has phenomenal self-control. Even with all of his nasty little tricks, he never wavered. 

Normally, the psychological control would be Cas’s favorite part of playing with dominance. Not with Dean, though. Rewarding him, wrecking him with pleasure, will be the best part.

“You did so well, baby. I’m so proud of you.” Cas pets his hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

Still, Dean is made of marble. Cas cradles the back of Dean’s head, letting his thumb rub just beneath his ear.

“You did it, Dean. You can relax now. I’m all you-”

Cas is interrupted by an explosion of movement below him. Dean sits up, grabs him roughly by the waist and hauls their bodies together. There are a million points of contact and hardly enough space for air to pass between them. Dean devours his lips, and in doing so, shares Cas’s come with him. They both groan at the feel of it, still warm, but cooler than the infernos of their mouths. 

“You are an evil bastard, you know that?” Dean says defiantly. 

Cas grins. “You have a lot more control than I thought you would have. I had to keep trying more devious ways to break you.”

Dean leans back to scowl at him. “So, I wasn’t supposed to win that challenge? You were setting me up for failure?”

“No, sweetheart, I wanted you to succeed. Pushing your limits is important if I hope to keep you interested, though. But, to push your limits, I have to find them first, no?”

Dean grunts in acknowledgement and steals another probing kiss. He feels unencumbered, almost weightless now that he can move freely. He never would have guessed how good it would feel just to be able to touch Cas’s skin. 

“Are you ready for your reward, sweetheart?” Everything about Cas has changed now. The domineering, authoritative man is gone, and all that is left is this sweet, selfless beauty. 

Dean squeezes him tighter. “Yes, but I don’t want to let go of you right now.”

“That’s alright. We can do this right here.” He holds Dean’s jaw lightly and smiles down on him.

Dean licks his lips nervously. “Cas, I-”

“I know, Dean. I will show you how. Grab that oil for me?”

When it’s in his hands, Cas asks, “Do you want me to do this part, or do you want to?”

Dean’s heart just about stops. He didn’t even consider that it would be an option. Cas had told him all about preparation, how to make a man ready for anal sex. He was intrigued, fascinated, and terrified by the prospect. Being able to experience it first with Cas? Terrified is off the table and now he can’t wait to feel him open up. “Can I?”

Cas tips some of the oil out into his palm. “Get your middle finger wet.”

Dean complies and Cas guides his hand back behind him to the little furl of muscle blocking his entrance. “Rub around the outside for a minute. Get everything slick.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate. His skin is silky soft here, hidden away as it is. The ring of muscle is hard, too firm to allow intrusion now. 

Cas lets out a long exhale, purposefully relaxing. “Okay, press in gently. There, stop.” 

Cas stops him at the first knuckle. He loves the look of amazement on Dean’s face. Experiencing this through Dean’s eyes is like being a virgin all over again. It’s better even, because he has the knowledge and experience to make this so good for Dean, while watching the wonder of having it for the first time on the face of the man he loves.

“Now, pull out and push back in, just to that same depth.” 

It’s been a couple of years at least since Cas had let anyone fuck him. He forgot the initial burn, but it’s fading quickly into a low, simmering pleasure. His body remembers this feeling. “Go deeper.” 

When Dean pushes that thick finger all the way in, they both moan. Cas drops his forehead to Dean’s. When he starts the sweet rhythm, in and out, it makes Cas already want to rock with it in the circle of his arms. “Push out all around the edge, try to stretch me.” 

Dean meets his eye. “You’re so fucking tight, Cas. You’re squeezing my finger. How is this going to work?”

Cas plants a kiss on his nose. “It will work. Trust me. Give me your fingers. We need to get your index finger slick, and then you can try two.”

When Dean tries to push back in, he meets resistance. He starts to back off but Cas tells him to keep pushing. Cas closes his eyes and breathes out again. Suddenly, the resistance gives. 

“Fuck,” Dean whispers. The fit is tighter, the heat immense. He lets the fingers push deeper into Cas’s body. He’s starting to get a good idea of how this will feel on his cock. He’s getting light-headed at the thought. 

“Okay, you can move them. Scissor them apart when they’re deep like this and pull back slowly.”

When he does, Cas hums and bites his lip. Dean is concerned. “Am I hurting you?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, sweetheart. It feels really good. I had forgotten how good. Keep going.”

Dean plunges his fingers in and out, watching the micro-expressions cross Cas’s face. Dean might be just a little infatuated with making Cas feel good. He is pushing back into Dean’s hand now, starting to gather a little momentum.

“Okay, I think I’m good, Dean.”

Dean knows that his cock is a whole lot bigger than two of his fingers. He starts to argue, but Cas shuts him up with a kiss. “I like the stretch.”

“I have to move back a little for this to work, okay?”

Dean nods and lets Cas pour a little oil over his dick. Cas rubs it all over with firm strokes. The breath punches out of his lungs with force. This is the first touch his neglected body has had, but it is worth the wait. 

“Do you remember when we were out here, and you told me about your sexual experience?”

Dean chuckles, “How could I forget? Are you finally going to tell me how my near virginal status made you feel?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “I would have told you right then. You’re the one who didn’t want to know.”

Dean concedes, “You’re right. So, I’m asking now. How did that affect you?”

Cas answers earnestly. “God, Dean. It made me want to fix all of that tragic past. I wanted to lay you out and pleasure you for days. Keep you drunk with lust. I still fight the urge to give you everything, all at once, so that you have all new memories to erase the old.”

Dean licks his lips, and Cas continues. “More than anything, knowing that I could possibly have so many of your firsts? That shook me. It made me, still makes me, territorial and fiercely possessive. I want them all, Dean.”

“Holy shit.” Dean’s mouth hangs open. “Yeah, I would have imploded if you had told me that back then. I still might.” Dean shakes his head to clear it. 

Cas leans back on one hand, guiding Dean’s cock to his hole with the other. As soon as Dean feels the head of his cock push against the soft give of Cas, his eyes snap up to meet Cas’s. Caught in each other, Cas starts the slow, inexorable slide.

Dean is overcome. Cas has him in a stranglehold, but it is pure bliss. The heat of Cas’s body sends a wave of flames over his skin. Dean feels a bead of sweat trickle at his temple. He is panting out breathy curses before Cas is fully seated. Nothing has ever felt this good, this right. 

“Dean, sweetheart, look at me.” Sweet agony looks back at him. Yeah, he feels it, too. 

“Hold on, baby.” When he doesn’t move, Cas grabs one of his big, rough hands and plants it on his hip. Dean grips, but still looks dazed. Then, Cas moves.

Just a little bit. He rocks his hips and Dean’s head falls back. On the next circle, he adds more sway to his hips. Dean grips harder, and his other hand joins it. The third time, he thrusts a bit harder, and Dean huffs out, “Goddamn, Cas. So good.”

Cas laughs, bubbly and light. “Yeah, and we’re just getting started, love.”

Dean groans, “I may not survive it.”

After a few minutes of slow grinding, the burn of stretching is gone and their movements are slick and delicious. He pushes Dean to lie back so that he can sit up and really ride him. He wants Dean to feel how utterly devastating sex can be, so he pulls out every trick he knows. He doesn’t remember it ever being this good, though. Like everything with Dean, it is so much more, so much better. It is magnified.

Now that Dean is fully participating and holding on to balance him, his arms are free to move. On every thrust back, Dean is snapping his hips up, and the impact is jarring the breath from his lungs, so he can only get one word out at a time. “Yes, Dean. Fuck.”

“Cas, oh god. Fuck, amazing.”

Cas grins at the praise. “Harder, baby. Please.”

Dean obliges, watching how every impact jolts Cas’s body. Sharp, desperate sounds are popping out of his open mouth. Cas’s hands are roaming over his own body, trying to dissipate some of the building pressure. Dean brings his knees up and flattens his feet on the furs to give him leverage. Cas bites his bottom lip and grips his hair tightly in white-knuckled fists. The look of concentration furrowing his brow gives way to a shuddering throughout his whole body. 

Dean is mesmerized by the sight. Then, it gets even better. 

The sun comes out from behind the clouds just as Cas throws his head back on a loud shout. “Yes!” His face is glorious in its ecstasy. Sunlight touches the edges of his body, giving him an ethereal shine. Golden light fractures through his chaotic hair, and Dean can’t breathe. Cas is an angel. He can’t possibly be of this world. He is too beautiful, too perfect. His heart stops, and then thuds in double time. Dean is in love.

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex and submission in one chapter??
> 
> This chapter fought me for days, but I finally forced it to submit. 
> 
> I actually had to set it aside to get another little idea out of my head, and once I posted that one, this chapter wouldn't let me make any headway. Pouty little bastard.
> 
> So, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> The next chapter is plot-heavy, but more sex, too. 
> 
> I love to read your comments!! (Hint, hint)
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	18. Don't Give Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is looking for Dean. He isn't where he expected him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This chapter is turning into a monster, so I decided to break it into two parts. This is the plot-heavy part, and the rest is resolution (smut) that should be posted in a few days. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

“Quartermaster, I have news.” 

Sam Winchester looks up from the map, wide-eyed with anticipation. “Did you find him?” 

The young messenger he hired bows his head low. “No, sir. At least, I’m not certain.” 

Sam takes a few deep breaths to corral his frustration. “So, what did you find out?” 

Sorin comes further into the room and sits across from him. “It’s the damnedest thing, sir. I found several of the employees at the castle willing to speak with me, and they all confirmed what you were told. There are no prisoners being held at Peleş” 

“But the letter from the prince said that he was being held here. After alerting the British Royal Navy to his whereabouts, they certainly wouldn’t have let him come to harm. Right?” 

Sam is completely baffled. If Sorin’s French wasn’t so fluent, he might worry that something was getting lost in the translation. Unfortunately, it seems that their concerns are greater than language barrier. Dean has disappeared. Where could he be? 

“There is more, sir.” Sorin is anxiously squirming in his seat like a puppy. When Sam nods his permission, he continues zealously. 

“I asked if any British troops had come through the castle and they all denied it. All but one young girl. Her mother hushed her right away and told me she was mistaken. When I left the home, I eavesdropped on them and overheard her tell her mother that she knew there was one British soldier, the strong one that guards the prince. Her mother scolded her for telling strangers about the business of the royal family.” 

Sam blinks a few times in astonishment. “Did she say which prince?” 

“No, sir.” 

Sam taps his finger on the table a few times; a nervous twitch that for some reason focuses his thoughts. “It has to be Dean, right?” 

The young man shrugs. “I don’t know for sure, but if it is the guard I am thinking of, he is often seen with Prince Castiel.” 

“When do you first remember seeing that guard?” 

Sorin scratches his head, “After the new year, I think. Yes, that’s right.” 

Sam sits back and crosses his arms. That doesn’t fit the timeline. Perhaps other factors intervened and Dean just started working with the guard? Why would the royal family trust him, an accused spy for an allied country, to protect one of their princes? He might not be the crown prince, but he’s definitely in the line of succession. Why would they tell the Navy that he’s a prisoner? Are they forcing him to provide protection? 

This new information is posing more questions than offering answers. He’ll have to go to the castle and look for himself with a few men. One thing is certain. Whoever this personal guard is, Sam is going to have to separate him from the prince so they can find out what has happened to his brother. 

 

***** 

 

Cas is sweaty, dirty, and pissed off. There is no way he’s giving up, though. Dean is forcing him to learn how to defend himself against an attacker, and every day has become an endless litany of blocks, punches, and hand grips. For every possible combat scenario, he’s supposed to remember exactly where to plant his feet, what angle to hold his arms in, where to grab his attacker, when to flip them, and when to use his body leverage to disarm them. It’s too much too fast, especially for someone who has never been allowed to fight. 

No one in this kingdom would dare raise their hands against a prince, so there aren’t any sparring partners available. Except, of course, Dean, who currently has him pinned against a wall with his forearm across Cas’s throat. 

“Okay, what do you do now?” 

“Offer to give you a blow job if you quit trying to kill me?” 

Dean sighs, drops his arm and bumps his head into Cas’s. He knows that his prince is tired. He knows that distilling years of training into a few weeks is impossible. Dean just wants to be sure that he is capable of getting out of life or death situations. That’s all. He wants Cas safe, and if something terrible does happen and Dean can’t get there in time, he wants the man he loves to have enough skill to get away. 

“Why are you making this so difficult, angel?” 

“I guess I don’t understand the necessity of some of these scenarios. I mean, what is the likelihood that anyone will ever pin me to a wall? 

“Well, I, for one, am seriously considering it while I choke the life out of you.” 

“Hmm. I’d hate for you to be executed for harming a member of the royal family, sweetheart.” 

“If anyone overheard what I’ve been dealing with, they would hardly blame me.” 

Cas gives him a city-leveling look of disdain. 

“Please, Cas?” 

Cas can’t stand the look of fear in his eyes. Dean is still terrified at the thought of Alastair coming for them. If this training wasn’t the only thing that seems to settle Dean’s nerves regarding a potential attack, he would have told his beloved to fuck right off several days ago. As it stands, he is willing to be thrown to the ground, choked, and pinned to a wall if it keeps Dean happy. 

“I’m sorry, let’s try again.” 

Dean resets, his arm resting with just the right weight across Cas’s throat. “Okay, from here, how do you create leverage?” 

“Brace my back against the wall.” 

“Good, and then your offensive moves?” 

“Shove your arm to the side and hit you in the face.” 

“In what order?” 

“At the same time?” It seems like a safe bet. Most of Dean’s training requires ten things to happen at once, which is quite possibly why it works so well. He will never forget the first day that Dean trained with the guard. Not only had he beaten over a dozen men, he did it with a speed and skill that had obviously impressed and overwhelmed them. He wasn’t arguing its effectiveness, just the necessity. 

Dean narrowed his gaze. “I never thought I’d see the day when I would have to tell you to be more confident.” 

Cas rolled his eyes. “At the same time.” 

“Show me.” 

Cas manages to knock Dean’s forearm away at the right angle, but doesn’t strike hard enough. Dean switches their positions for the thousandth time, patiently showing the steps again while giving him pointers. Cas leans in to push just a little harder on Dean’s throat. Dean tips his chin up to let Cas really sink in. “That’s right, sweetheart. Pin me down.” The rumble of his voice around the obstruction blocking his airway is enough to send a jolt of lust through Cas. 

“There are more interesting ways I’d like to pin you down, Dean.” Cas promises, and just like that, they are both in a completely different headspace. 

He reads the intent in Dean’s eyes, drops his arm and surges forward into him. Their mouths battle, not for dominance, but to give more of themselves. Dean’s hand comes up to hold Cas’s head to him, fingers gripping in his hair possessively. Cas growls into his mouth and pushes his thigh between Dean’s legs. Before he can get his hands on him, though, he hears a disgusted groan behind them. 

“For fuck’s sake, Cassie. You do have an entire suite of rooms inside to play with your new toy. Must you subject us all to it as well?” 

Dean doesn’t even have to look. That smarmy disdain could only come from one person. He expects Cas to be angry for one of many things wrong with that comment: interrupting their privacy, speaking to a prince with such familiarity, calling Dean a toy. Instead, Cas smiles good-naturedly and teases him back. Damn it. 

“My apologies, Adri. I didn’t know we were upsetting your delicate sensibilities.” 

Cas turns, but keeps Dean directly behind him, protectively. The gesture helps settle Dean’s ire at his unexpected reaction to that asshole. He would do well to remember that they are friends even if Dean wants to make him disappear. Painfully. 

Adrian grins back. “I wouldn’t have barged in, but Michael needs you, urgently, I’m afraid. He’s practically screaming down the castle to find you, so I figured I should retrieve you and bring warning.” 

Cas turns to Dean and speaks quietly. “We’ll pick up where we left off later, then?” 

Dean smiles fondly. “I’m your guard, Cas. I’m coming with you.” 

He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. It’s broad daylight. I’m walking a hundred yards into the castle and up to the Council Room. Stay. Finish your training. I’ll see you later.” 

With a chaste kiss, he leaves. Unfortunately, Adrian remains. Dean watches Cas until the door swings closed behind him. He hopes it is long enough for the royal pain to get bored and wander away. It isn’t. 

“I must commend you, Dean. You’ve kept his attention longer than I thought you would.” 

Dean isn’t going to take the bait. “Is everything alright with Michael? Is there something I need to know about?” 

Adrian squints at him a moment, and then a look of realization crosses his face. “Oh, no. Nothing is going on.” 

Dean takes a threatening step forward. “Michael wasn’t looking for him at all, was he?” 

A shark-like grin spreads. “Of course not. However, Cassie has made himself invaluable to his brother lately, so as soon as he sees him, I’m sure he’ll need him for something.” 

He advances again, with a hand on his blade. “You meddling little-” 

Adrian takes a step back when Dean gets closer, but doesn’t cower. “I wouldn’t finish that thought, Dean. I’d hate to have to run to Cas, sobbing in my fear. I doubt he would be happy to hear that you threatened me.” 

Dean moves forward again quickly and Adrian does flinch. He leans in close to the man, making him feel the size advantage Dean has over him. “You haven’t been threatened. You’ve been warned. Stay away from me and Cas. Quit trying to get between us.” 

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? Think about how that will go, Dean. Any use of brute strength will only work against you. Any threats you utter will be repeated. Cas will take my side if there is a conflict. You know he will.” 

Dean clenches his jaw. As much as he hates this man and worries that he is going to drive a wedge between him and Cas, he can’t do anything about it. He must remain above reproach. He turns and stalks away from the infuriating prick. 

Once Cas is through with Michael, he will talk to him about Adrian. If he approaches the subject calmly, Cas will listen to him. His fair and steady nature is one of the many things Dean loves about him. And it is love that he feels. After the transcendent experience by the lake, Dean had laughed at himself. Thinking he was in love in the middle of sex? How naïve could he be? 

Since then, he has thought a lot about his feelings for Cas. He’s allowed himself to be honest, which is quite a switch in and of itself. Cas’s beauty is easy to love. Dean’s never met someone so ethereal, so physically striking. His sexual prowess and the authoritative way he handles himself and others are addictive. Under the surface, though, Cas is generous, patient, mischievous, brilliant. He attacks life with indomitable spirit. Every day of their training, Cas had failed over and over again. He’s landed face down in the dirt both literally and metaphorically. Never once did he quit. Knowing that he feels the training to be unnecessary, that he is only doing it for Dean’s sake, makes his perseverance even more impressive. He is willing to deal with any amount of aches and humiliation to give Dean peace of mind. Dean is in awe of Cas, wants to protect him, cherishes every part of him, and aches when they are apart. That can be nothing less than love. 

 

***** 

Cas’s attention drifts for the hundredth time. Michael is finishing a contract, so he is sitting in silence. His time could be better spent elsewhere. He could finish training with Dean. Or, he could drag his virile guard back to their rooms and spend the afternoon training him in other ways. The possibilities trickle through his brain like soothing, warm water. 

“Was there anything else you needed?” 

Michael looks up startled. “Pardon?” 

“You were looking for me for some important purpose? Surely reading over contracts was not it.” 

Michael scowls. “I wasn’t looking for you, brother.” 

Cas tilts his head in contemplation. “Fucking hell,” he whispers. Adrian is up to his old tricks. He rubs a hand down his face. Cas has seen first-hand the psychological torture that Adrian is capable of, and heaven help him if he is screwing around with Dean. He’s halfway out of his seat and about to make his excuses when Michael interrupts. 

“Actually, I have a few things that I’d like your opinion on if you have the time?” 

Cas offers a tight smile and plops back down. “Of course. How can I help?” 

Cas is still in the Council Room hours later, reviewing policy changes that Alex wants to implement to stave off some of the most egregious Russian influence. They must be careful diplomatically so as not to offend their ‘overlords’, but must retain authority over their people. It is a delicate balancing act, so he is the right person to oversee the wording and the timing. Alex is a great leader in many ways, but subtlety is not among them. 

He hears the door open, but doesn’t look up, assuming that whoever it is will announce themselves if they need his attention. All of the brothers and their many advisors have access to the rooms, so it isn’t uncommon enough to raise concern. The metal snick of a blade being unsheathed, though, is quite alarming. Cas stiffens instantly. 

“Castiel?” An unknown deep voice asks for confirmation. They don’t know who he is yet. He could lie. Looking down at his clothing, though, he knows that there is no denying he is royalty. If only he hadn’t cleaned up before reporting to Michael. If he had come in covered in grime, he might have gotten away with subterfuge. 

“Da?” He looks up for the first time and the sight stops his heart. Five large warriors are surrounding the only entrance to the room. The one speaking is a veritable giant. He schools his features behind a mask of nonchalance and disdain. He still doesn’t have a feel for what is going on. Are they Russian? 

“I’m here for my brother.” The man speaks in perfect French, but it is not his first language. 

Cas understands immediately who this man is and what he means to do. It terrifies him. Not because he means him harm, but because he means to take away the one thing, the one person that Cas can’t live without. Dean. 

Cas could play coy. He could pretend that he doesn’t understand French, let alone English. That could eat up some time. Perhaps enough time for someone to come look for him? Not for the first time today, Cas is regretting sending Dean off without him. Cas decides on the forthright approach. Maybe the shock will give him an opening. 

Cas walks directly up to the giant and offers his hand. Speaking in English to the stunned man, he says, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Sam.” 

Surprise registers on all five faces, but Sam is the first to recover. He takes Cas’s hand, but then uses it to spin him around and into his massive body. The blade comes up to his throat and digs in enough to force Cas’s complete compliance. His breathing even has to go shallow to prevent a cut. 

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but we’re going to wait for my brother before we decide what to do.” 

Cas allows himself to be manhandled to a spot deeper in the room. Sam shoves him to his knees with more force than is strictly necessary as Cas is cooperating. He hisses out a curse in Romanian. 

“Where is Dean?” 

Cas doesn’t answer until the blade slips along his skin, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. “I don’t know.” 

“Is he in the jail?” 

“No.” 

“So, he’s not a prisoner.” 

“Technically, he is. But he is a guard.” 

“You trust him to move freely?” 

“Yes.” Cas is getting pissed off, so his answers are petulantly lacking in information. The rough treatment he is receiving is only one reason. He knows from the many stories that Dean has told him about Sam that Dean would do anything for him. They are more than brothers; they are also best friends. Sam means everything to him, so Dean will choose his brother. He will choose freedom over this gold-leafed prison. He wonders if he will die today because the man he loves will choose someone else, something else. Tears make his eyes glassy, but he will not let a single one fall. He will grieve silently. 

 

***** 

 

It’s after dinner and still no one can confirm laying eyes on Cas since this morning. His instincts are screaming at him, but he shakes them off. He is often too protective when it comes to Cas. He doesn’t need to run around like a damned fool because he hasn’t seen his love in a few hours. All that will get him is incessant teasing. He walks calmly, if not swiftly, to Michael’s door. His knock is loud enough to bring the man himself to open it. 

“What is it, Winchester?” 

“Did Cas find you this afternoon?” 

“Yes, he was in the Council Room when I left.” At the look of relief on Dean’s face, he questions, “Why? Is something wrong?” 

Dean shakes his head. “I’m sure that he just got caught up in work and lost track of time. I’ll fetch him now.” 

As he’s walking away, Michael can’t help but jab, “Guarding someone is a lot easier when you keep them in eyesight.” 

“Which is exactly what I tell him every day,” he calls over his shoulder. “You’ve met your brother, though, so you can imagine how well he listens.” 

His steps are lighter, buoyed by the fact that he is about to see Cas and they have the entire night free. A lewd smile rests on his lips. He has several ideas of how to pass the time. Knowing Cas, he won’t just give him what he wants. He’ll make him work for it, which astonishingly, makes it so much better. 

He pushes open the door, “Cas, drăguță, ai pierdut cina.” 

Only then does the sight in front of him register. Six men look back at him. Sam is among them. That is shock enough, but his only concern is Cas. His heart physically aches to see that they have Cas on his knees with a knife to his throat. His own fucking brother is behind Cas, holding a blade that is biting into his skin. Cas has his neck tipped back, trying to keep it as far away as possible. Dean sees red, jaw and fists clenching against the need to retaliate, to rip Cas away from them. 

The adrenaline panic makes him feel desperate. At that moment, he would give anything, do anything, to keep Cas safe. Instead of letting his turmoil show, he snarls at his friends, his family with cold, merciless rage. 

“If he is harmed, no one will make it out of this room alive.” 

When no one moves except to look at each other with gaping mouths, Dean draws his kukri. The men are so focused on the blade that it gives him a minute to check on Cas visually. No injuries are evident, just the red line on his throat. 

He speaks gently to Cas in Romanian. “Are you hurt, angel?” 

The relieved whimper escapes Cas at his words. Dean isn’t going to let them hurt him. He may not choose to leave. “No, I’m fine.” 

“That didn’t sound fine, Cas. What’s wrong?” 

Cas huffs out a laugh. “Nothing urgent. We’ll talk later when I’m not about to be skewered.” 

“That won’t happen. You know I won’t let them hurt you. I’ll die first.” 

The ferocity of the statement, the pledge, opens the flood gates. His tears are tracking down his face unbidden. 

Dean looks stricken. “No, baby. Don’t cry. Please?” 

Dean looks back to Sam, indignant rage pouring off of him. “Take that fucking blade away from his throat, Sammy. I won’t ask again.” 

“No, Dean. Not until you explain what’s going on here.” 

The answer pisses Dean off even more, and his ability to reason is abandoning him. He is breathing like a bull, shaking with how much restraint is costing him right now. 

“Sweetheart, do you remember how to escape this kind of hold?” 

Cas’s eyes go wide. “You can’t be serious, Dean.” 

Dean is nodding. “You can do it. You know how. Don’t worry about hurting him. Nothing you can do is half as bad as what I’m going to do to him as soon as you’re out of danger.” 

Sam is looking at Dean incredulously. “Dean!” 

Sam can’t believe what is happening. Dean arrived in Wallachian uniform. Right now, the look on his brother’s face can only be described as murderous, like he wants to rip Sam apart. Dean is speaking to the prince in what must be Romanian. His words to Castiel are gentle and soft, almost cooing at him. None of this makes any sense. 

Dean ignores his brother and keeps instructing Cas. “Pull down on his forearm, hold it to you tightly and twist. Step back under his arm to the side of his body and shove him away hard. Run to me. That’s it, angel. Easy. I’ll distract him, too.” 

Cas is shaking his head. “I don’t think I’m strong enough, Dean. What if it makes it worse?” 

Dean is aware that Sam is still talking. He isn’t listening at all. Not until he knows that Cas is ready to escape them. “It won’t. I promise. I wouldn’t ask this if I wasn’t sure you could do it. But I really need you away from them." 

His voice cracks on the next pleading words, which is what makes the decision for Cas. “I don’t think I can take another minute of seeing you like this, baby. I’m losing control and if you don’t get away, I’m going to hurt them.” 

Cas sees the tremble in Dean’s body and nods his agreement. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try.” 

Dean’s eyes flick back to Sam’s. Now for the distraction. “I told you, Sam. Let him go.” He lunges at his brother, not close enough to actually reach him, but closing the gap enough to make Sam keep his focus on the approaching threat and not on his captive. 

In three very jerky movements that cause Dean’s heart to stop, Cas has disarmed Sam and is running to his side. Dean pushes him gently behind him. Cas finds his protection endearing and the murder in his eyes moltenly hot. 

Sam is flabbergasted. Dean has obviously been showing the prince how to fight. Their techniques are unique and there’s no way Castiel could know them otherwise. 

“What the fuck, Dean!” Sam is forgetting himself. He and his men are greatly outnumbered here. He should be silent, not screeching at his brother. 

“That’s the question of the day, now isn’t it?” Dean yells back. When he starts to make a move forward, Cas wraps an arm around his waist from behind. 

Dean stops. “You’re being loud and you’ll bring the guards down on them.” 

Dean snaps, “It’s nothing that they don’t deserve.” 

“Dean, breathe, sweetheart. Just listen to them. Then we can decide what to do.” 

He hates that Cas is right, and he hates that it takes several breaths before he is calm enough to keep talking. “Why are you here, Sam?” 

Dean receives the bitchiest ‘are you stupid’ look he’s ever seen. “Trying to rescue you, asshole.” 

“You knew that I’m serving a sentence. Plans were already arranged for me to meet up with you when it’s over. Why would you take such a ridiculous risk?” 

Sam runs his hands through his hair. “The Russians have taken over the country. Who knows if you’ll be free to leave later.” 

Dean is snarling at his brother, but quietly. “I do! I know because it was part of the bargaining Cas did before they allowed the Russians in. He’s already taken care of it. Why didn’t you contact him to voice your concerns before coming here half-cocked on a very dangerous mission?” 

“Because I don’t trust the enemy,” Sam snaps back. 

Dean shakes his head. “Sam, they are our allies. Even if they weren’t, Cas is not an enemy. He’s done nothing but help me since the day I arrived. He’s saved my life at least twice, probably more that I don’t know about.” 

Sam looks at the arm banded around Dean’s middle and Dean’s hand rubbing it soothingly. “What is he to you, Dean?” 

He is about to tell Sam and several of the high ranking members of his squadron that he is in love with a man. This man. Before the words can form, though, Cas says, “We’re very good friends. He is my personal guard.” 

“How did that happen?” Sam asks in disbelief. 

Cas steps from behind Dean. Now that the situation isn’t so volatile, he can lead them out of this tangled web. “It’s a long story which will require time none of you have. We need to get you out of here before you’re found.” 

“How are you going to deal with Dean’s disappearance?” Sam asks him. 

Cas and Dean look at each other in confusion. Their silent conversation reassures them both that they are on the same page. Dean says quietly, “Sammy, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Are you joking?” One of the other men finally speaks up. It must be Ketch. He’s never been able to hold his tongue. 

“No. I have no intention of leaving my post. I appreciate that you risked a lot to get here, but you should have tried other methods of communication first. To be honest, I have no desire to get back home any time soon.” 

While they are talking, Cas goes to the corner of the room and opens the book shelf. He slides a book out of the way and pulls a lever down. A little section of the wall appears to open, and Cas swings it wide. “Gentlemen, this passage will take you down to the back of the stables. I trust that you can find your way from there?” 

Sam eyes the small opening. Cas’s lips twitch. “Sorry, Sam. Wallachians are not typically so...large.” 

Dean shakes hands with the men and pulls his brother in for a hug. He says quietly, “I’ll see you soon, Sammy. Oh, and take this warning to heart. If you ever raise a hand against him again, I will destroy you.” He leaves his brother with a playful pat on the cheek before they funnel into the narrow space. 

Once the door shuts and the wall looks solid once more, Dean slumps into a chair, looking close to a breakdown. Cas approaches and Dean pulls him into a tight embrace. “Don’t ever argue with me about going off on your own. Not ever again.” 

 

“I promise, love. I will never argue again.” Dean snorts at that. 

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The resolution and next section are fluffy and loving. Lots of smut, too. 
> 
> What do you think? Will Sam leave it alone? Was Dean's reaction appropriate?
> 
> BTW - The techniques Dean teaches are Krav Maga, which didn't exist as a full martial art until the next decade, but I'm taking a little artistic license.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	19. Professions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean take solace in each other after the botched rescue attempt by Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My least favorite thing on this site is reading authors constantly apologizing about how long it took to update. That being said, I know it's been a while. There are reasons, mostly real life, but I've also been distracted by another WIP fic that has demanded all of my attention despite my best intentions. I finally feel like I'm back online with this story, though, and I promise that I will not abandon it. Ever. I know exactly where it's going, so if I can stay focused (big IF) I will be more regular with updates.
> 
> Because it's been a while, I thought I would give a brief synopsis of the story so far to refresh your memories:
> 
> Dean is a British soldier who gets caught spying on his allies. Cas is a hedonistic prince who takes an immediate interest in Dean. He isn't the only one. Alastair is obsessed with Dean, but for different reasons. Dean is completely heterosexual, except that he's not, especially where our prince is concerned. There is UST for days until Cas fucks someone else, and then they stay away from each other until Alastair rears his ugly head. They fight against a primal chemistry between them until Dean finally gives in. Cas is mentoring him sexually, which brings us to the last chapter, where Sam snuck in to try to rescue Dean. It didn't go as he had planned. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It isn’t until they are settled into a scalding bath and Dean can truly wrap himself around Cas that the tension starts to bleed out of him. Cas has his back to Dean’s front, and he feels completely at peace. Dean’s strong hands are moving over him, soothing and reverent. Cas knew that Dean would need time to reconnect tonight, to right the ship, so to speak. On their way back to their rooms, Cas had asked for food to be brought up after a bath, and that they not be disturbed for any reason after that. Cas has plans for Dean. 

Cas doesn’t have to wait long before the questions start. Dean processes things in a predictable, but logical way. He examines something, looks at all of its facets, and then decides where to categorize it. Simple, objective, and so much more effective than the melodrama and deception he’s used to. 

“Why did you tell Sam that we are just friends? I was ready to tell him.” 

“I know you were. Your brother was already thrown for a loop by all of the changes to you, love. He wasn’t expecting you to be a trusted guard, or want to stay, or speak Romanian, or care about what happened to me. Telling him that you were in a sexual relationship with a man might have been the last straw. I doubt he would have left so willingly.” 

Cas takes a deep breath in and snuggles further into Dean. The incense in the air is adding to the almost spiritual atmosphere. Around their bed, at least a dozen candles are being lit while they enjoy the heated water. On the little table next to it, a flask of warmed, herb-infused oil waits. 

“How is your neck? Should we bandage it when we get out of the water?” 

“It isn’t bad at all. I’ve nicked myself worse with a razor.” 

Dean’s tension is coming back. His grip is tighter and he’s agitated. “Do you want to talk about it, Dean?” 

He shakes his head, ‘no’ against Cas’s back. “I think it will help you get past it.” 

Dean sighs and drops gentle kisses along his shoulders. “I was so scared, Cas. I’ve never been so terrified. I would have gladly traded places with you just so I wouldn’t have to feel that fear of the unknown. Sam wouldn’t have intentionally harmed you unless you tried to harm him first, but there were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. I was helpless. You were ten feet from me, and it might have been a million miles. I couldn’t watch you get hurt, Cas. I would have gone berserk."

Cas is suspiciously quiet. Dean leans around to see his face. “Anything you want to get off your chest, sweetheart?” 

“I was worried, too.” 

“I’ll bet,” Dean agrees. 

“No, for a different reason than you're thinking.” 

Dean waits patiently for him to begin. “I thought that when you found us, you would choose to leave with Sam. That you would leave me.” He finishes so quietly that Dean almost loses the words. 

“Cas, I wouldn’t do that.” 

“He’s your brother, Dean. You are only here because you were taken away from your friends and family. It was a safe assumption to make.” 

Dean leans his head on Cas’s shoulder, making eye contact. “That’s because you don’t have all of the information.” 

Cas tilts his head, squinting at him in question. It makes Dean grin. His heart is hammering with nervous anticipation. “I’m in love with you, Cas. There’s nowhere else for me to be.” 

The feeble gasp that squeaks out of his dominant, authoritative love is adorable. Dean watches the thoughts fly across his gob-smacked face. Suddenly, Cas is turned in his lap, water sloshing everywhere. He kisses Dean like he is air and sunshine and the rotation of the earth, and every other need keeping him alive. He can’t let go of this gorgeous man long enough to take a breath. When Dean finally pulls his hands off the sides of his face and into his own hands, Cas kisses his knuckles. Dean smiles at his sweet need to touch. 

“How do you know?” 

“How do I know that I love you?” 

Cas nods, still planting little kisses on his hands. 

“Overwhelming evidence.” He pulls Cas in by the hips, lining up their groins, not to grind, just to be closer. “For one, I think even your worst habits are cute and endearing.” 

“I don’t have any bad habits.” 

“Yes, you do. Stop interrupting. I’m professing my love to you.” 

“Sorry, please continue.” 

“I can’t go an hour without fantasizing about you.” At that, the air between them thickens. Cas does grind down on his lap then. A slow, circular, filthy grind. He bites his lip and smiles and Dean’s brain implodes. 

“You were saying?” 

“I have no idea, baby. All I can think about right now is getting you into that bed and making you scream my name.” 

Cas stops and raises one brow. “You were telling me how you know that you love me.” 

“Oh, that’s right,” Dean says sheepishly. “Where was I? Oh, I could spend all day every day with you and still want more. I’ve never felt the need to have space of my own.” 

Cas can’t help but add one of his own. “We don’t have to fill quiet moments. We are content just to be with each other.” 

“Exactly.” After a leisurely kiss, Dean adds, “I also would have done permanent damage to my brother to protect you.” 

Cas frowns at that. “You would not maim Sam.” 

Dean catches his chin and forces eye contact. “Castiel, if he had tried to hurt you, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

Cas lets the weight of his words sink in. “Come with me. There’s something I want to do with you.” 

Dean lets Cas lead him to their bed. Seeing the candles glowing makes him feel a little silly, but he keeps his mouth shut. Cas will let him know what he has planned. 

“I’m going to show you a different way to experience closeness and intimacy.” 

Dean frowns. “So, no sex?” 

“There will be touching, there will be orgasms, but that isn’t the intent. The intent is for us to explore each other and get closer.” 

Dean still looks skeptical. “Explain.” 

Cas makes him lay down on his back with pillows propped under his hips and head before continuing. “I’m going to give you a massage while we talk, acceptable?” 

Dean hums approval, turning his head to the side to watch Cas. He pours some of the warm oil over Dean’s chest and then straddles his hips. His long, elegant fingers are stronger than they look. Dean moans his appreciation as they glide silkily over tight muscles. 

“What I have in mind is similar to Tantra.” 

“I don’t know what that is.” 

“It’s a practice like yoga or meditation in the strictest sense. It’s a way to feel spiritual enlightenment through connection to someone else.” 

“So, we meditate together?” 

“Not really. We explore each other’s bodies in an unhurried way, both working to build the sexual energy in the other.” 

“It still sounds like sex, Cas. Can’t you just show me?” 

“I am showing you. Massage is often involved. Unlike a regular massage, though, most of the attention I spend will be on your cock.” 

Dean peeks an eye open at that. “Again. Not seeing any difference yet.” 

Cas slaps his hip. “Behave.” 

“I’m doing this to be closer to you, learn more about you. I’m not trying to get you off. In fact, ejaculation should be avoided as long as possible.” 

Cas takes his time working down Dean’s chest. He rubs and pinches his nipples for a long time, loving the sounds that Dean makes. “You really enjoy that, don’t you?” 

“Mmm. It’s like they’re connected to my groin. You touch them and I feel it all the way through my body.” 

Cas pinches a little tighter and watches Dean squirm away. “Can I try something?” 

“I’m all yours, Cas.” 

“It will sting, but I think you’ll like it.” 

Dean frowns at him again but doesn’t tell him no. Cas plumps up one of Dean’s nipples and then flicks it hard with his finger. Dean jerks back, but still doesn’t stop him. Cas leans forward and gets it sloppy wet with his mouth and then flicks it again. Dean hisses and then moans, squeezing his legs together. 

Cas hums in approval and Dean opens his eyes. “Why does that feel so good?” 

Cas shrugs. “Pleasure and pain often go hand in hand. Most people never explore that dynamic, so they don’t know if they like it. If you like it, we can play around with it.” 

“What do you mean by play around with it?” 

“We can use pain during sex to make it more intense for you.” 

“What kind of pain?” 

“Pinching and flicking your nipples, biting, spanking.” 

“Spanking?” Dean seems annoyed by that thought. 

“Mmm. I’d be willing to bet that you’ll like it a lot.” 

“I don’t think so,” Dean grouses. Cas wraps his hand around a firm, round butt cheek and squeezes with force. He grins to himself when Dean moans and rolls his hips down for more. ‘We’ll have to see about that.’ 

“Well, I’m not going to give it to you tonight, anyway, so we don’t need to decide now.” 

Cas enjoys watching Dean’s face fall in disappointment at not getting spanked and then wrinkle in confusion at that disappointment. There is so much yet to explore with him, and Cas finds himself so grateful for every opportunity. 

Trailing down his stomach with wet kisses, he helps Dean settle again. Cas pushes back to sit cross-legged in the vee of Dean’s legs, and then he tugs them up and over his hips. The position opens Dean’s hips, laying him out for Cas to worship. He pours more oil over Dean’s groin and coats his hands in it. The rich aroma of the herbs increases as Cas works the oil over his skin. He works tension out of his hips with thumbs and Dean seems to melt into the bed. 

Cas smiles at his brave warrior. “I love you, too.” 

Dean’s eyes open in surprise, and then a glint of wonderment crosses them. “So this is what it’s like to hear the best news in the world.” 

He chuckles with a blush. “You are quite a romantic, Dean Winchester. I never would have thought.” 

“I’m just as surprised as you are, believe me.” 

“I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to rush you.” 

"Earlier? You’ve known for a while then?” 

“Yes, since the first time we rode together.” He can see how shocked Dean is, but he lets his confession sit there for him to ruminate over while he starts working his thumbs down the sides of Dean’s cock and under his testicles. He uses pressure to rub over the perineum, which drags the most sinful, guttural sounds up from his lover’s chest. 

The massage is meant to build sexual energy and help disperse it throughout the body. Quiet helps both partners focus on the feel of each other, become more in tune. He didn’t tell Dean this, but like so many other times, Dean just instinctively knows what is right in the circumstance. 

Cas moves his hands up to Dean’s scrotum, letting his oil slick hands get him nice and slippery. Once or twice, Dean unconsciously tries to pull his legs together or close his pelvis, but Cas is directly in the way. He asks quietly, “Are you feeling vulnerable, Dean?” 

“Uh, yeah. A little.” 

“That’s very much on purpose, love. Being vulnerable in front of each other builds trust and strengthens our relationship.” 

“I already trust you, angel.” 

“Good. So, allow yourself to be vulnerable for me.” 

“Anything. Anything for you,” Dean replies softly. Cas’s heart swells at the promise, the oath in those words. If he hadn’t fallen for Dean months ago, this moment would have made him fall. Dear lord, how he adores this man. 

After thoroughly rolling, pulling, and kneading his testicles, Cas moves up to Dean’s cock. He grips the base and squeezes all the way up to the tip with one hand, and repeats the motion with the other. Over and over he repeats. He watches Dean’s body for signs. His breathing picks up, his hands clench at his sides, soft sighs and content sounds escape his lips, but he is not being dragged toward release. Good. This simmering stage of arousal is exactly where he wants him to stay. 

Cas reverses the motion now, starting at the tip and forcing his erection through the tight channel of his fist. Again, switching back and forth between hands. He concentrates on the head, particularly on the frenulum, alternating rubbing it between his two thumbs. Dean is panting now, his hips restlessly wanting to thrust. Cas removes the touch from his cock and runs his hands up his flanks, over his chest, and down his arms. “Breathe deeply, Dean. Fill your lungs and hold it.” 

Dean complies and releases his breath when Cas tells him. He had been getting close to orgasm, but he seems much more in control and energized now. His senses are sharper even. 

After completing that cycle at least a half dozen times, Dean is covered in a fine dew of sweat, he’s leaking a steady drip of precum, but he feels euphoric. Cas pulls his arms to make him sit upright, and then shifts his hips to sit in his lap. “Wrap your legs around me.” 

Cas tips their heads together and surrounds him in his arms. Dean isn’t expecting how content he feels in this position. They are intertwined, so much so that it feels like they are merging together. They sit and breathe together for long minutes, neither of them wanting to break the peace. Finally, Cas asks, “How do you feel?” 

“Honestly? Invincible.” 

“Excellent. Are you willing to experiment a little tonight?” 

“What do you have in mind?” Dean asks a bit warily. 

“I’d like to try opening you up, see what you think of anal play.” 

All of the tension goes right back to Dean’s muscles. “Don’t freeze up on me, sweetheart. Do you remember how much you liked doing it to me?” 

Dean swallows around the massive lump in his throat and nods. He can barely hear Cas over the pounding of his heart. 

“If you don’t like it, we won’t continue, but I think we’ve waited long enough now that it’s grown into a huge obstacle.” 

Dean’s not going to lie. The idea of letting anything penetrate his ass is frightening. He’s felt how tight that knot of muscle is and he can’t fathom taking the girth of a single finger, let alone what Cas wants to give him. That thick cock is going to rip him apart. He loved opening Cas up, though, almost as much as the sex afterwards. It’s intimate and sinful. He needs to get past his fear. Cas wants this, so he will try. 

Cas is watching his reactions. He can see the debate warring behind his eyes. Trying to think through the experience was probably the wrong approach. Dean is so tactile that the only thing capable of convincing him will be to experience it. Cas slides him backward off his lap and tells him to turn over. He pulls and guides Dean into a position that will keep him comfortable. 

Dean thought he felt vulnerable earlier? On his stomach with his knees tucked under him spreads him wide. This is so much more. He is fidgeting, unconsciously clenching his cheeks together, breathing heavy in anticipation. Cas puts his hands on Dean’s hips to settle him. “It’s just me, Dean.” 

He breathes out steadily and tries to relax. The first touch of a slick finger dragging over his hole makes him jump, but Cas gentles him with praise and a firm touch on his lower back, rubbing out the tension. He knows what to expect from the process, but he doesn’t factor in the sensitivity of the virgin skin Cas is stroking. He sighs at the sensations cascading down his spine. Like everything else Cas does, he uses masterful strokes and takes his time. He uses his thumb and index finger to tighten the skin, and then slides firm pressure around the pink knot. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Let your muscles loosen.” 

Cas feels him struggle and then go pliant against his touch. He smiles and whispers praise. Once he has Dean glistening with oil, he dips his middle finger in, just an inch, and holds there. Dean gasps, but lets it out slowly. Cas moves the finger in a slow circle, stretching a little, and then pulls it back out. When he pushes in again, Dean lets out a breathy sound of appreciation. Moving in and out slowly, Cas sinks deeper and deeper into him. He strokes his velvety walls on every retreat, and pushes firmly on the rim when he advances. 

When Dean’s body starts to rock into the stroke, Cas praises him again. “You’re doing well, darling. How does it feel?” 

“Strange, but it doesn’t hurt.” 

Cas hums. “Ready for another?” 

Dean starts to tense up, but Cas shushes him and reaches for his soft cock, which rests beneath him. Cas squeezes and strokes him toward hardness as he adds the second finger. Dean groans when the intrusion doubles, but the shiver down his spine tells Cas he isn’t in any pain. When the two slip easily in and out of Dean’s now widening hole, Cas flips them over, pushes them in to the hilt and holds. 

When he drags his fingers back, he searches for the little spot that will give Dean intense pleasure. Sure enough, Dean shouts out his surprise, immediately coming up on his hands. His lustful gaze turns to Cas, who looks back like the cat who got the cream. With Dean’s eyes on him, he repeats the motion. Dean’s eyes close and his mouth opens on another moan. 

“Wha-what is that?” 

“Feels good, hmm?” 

“So good,” he breathes, now pushing back with leverage into Cas’s hand. Cas keeps stroking his prostate, loving how wanton and needy Dean is becoming. His responsiveness is always appealing, but this is utterly beautiful to watch. There is no inhibition, no barrier, between Dean and his body’s responses. He is completely overcome by his desires, and Cas can’t get enough of it. 

Dean wouldn’t have believed anyone who claimed that anal penetration could make him orgasm. Until now. Cas has him spiraling up into the clouds with just two fingers in his ass. His legs are shaking, he’s having a hard time catching his breath, and he can feel it just out of reach. 

“Angel, please. Let me- I need...so bad-” Dean pleads as he continues to roll his hips back onto those wicked fingers.

“Just one more, baby.” 

Dean wants to shake his head no, but Cas already has it working in. Dean huffs out a breath, rattled by the immense pleasure of the stretch. He can feel air swirling into him on each thrust, can feel how open he is, and he really wants to touch. He leans to his left so he can spare his right hand. Cas guides him back, molding two fingers into the crossed shape they need to be to fit. When Dean slides them into himself, his mouth drops open in disbelief and wonder. Cas lets him pump his fingers a few times before adding his own finger alongside them. 

Dean whispers brokenly, “Fuck, Cas. We’re both...” 

“I know, baby. We’re both inside you, and it is pure heaven.” 

The sight of both of their fingers plunging into Dean’s body is breathtaking. Cas can feel them rub against each other as they work Dean harder, and it creates another layer of unexpectedly sweet sensation. Cas wants to make this responsive man come untouched, but after edging him through the massage and giving him anal penetration for the first time, that might be pushing too far. As it is, there is a wild, unhinged look in Dean’s eyes. Cas takes pity on him, and renews his gripping strokes on Dean’s cock. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Relax into it. You’re going to come hard.” 

Dean nods and lets his slick fingers slip free to brace himself on both hands. Cas takes over without missing a stroke, shifting forward to get closer to the object of his every desire. His cock, angry and red at being ignored through this feast of the senses, is leaking steadily. His balls are drawn up tight, just waiting for the chance to release. His hips are shifting forward without his permission. He wants, more than anything, to dip his cock into that gaping pink hole. He is trembling with the effort to stop himself from replacing his fingers and claiming his prize. 

Cas sounds his agony and whimpers, “Goddamn, Dean. I want to fuck you so badly, sweetheart. I’ve never wanted anything this much, and you’re right here, open and ready.” 

“Yes,” Dean hisses. “Do it, angel. Take me.” 

When Cas pulls his fingers away roughly, it is the last step off the cliff for Dean, and he tumbles over the edge. A quick shout punches out of him on the first abrupt pulse, followed by several more that have him grinding, heaving, and trembling with murmurs of “Oh god, Cas. Angel. Perfect. Fuck.” 

Cas uses his slippery fingers to grasp his own neglected cock while he strokes Dean through his orgasm. As desperately as he wants to be inside Dean, he isn’t going to shove himself inside now that he’s over sensitized and sated. He isn’t going to waste this loose hole, though. 

“I’m not going to fuck you, baby, but I am going to come in you,” he promises. He lets go of Dean’s spent cock and toys with his hole, tugging and spreading it open as far as he can. With single-minded focus, Cas strips his cock hard and fast, eyes on the fluttering, still-pulsing hole. The first stripe of come erupts and lands across it, gravity dragging it down into Dean’s body. Cas’s heart practically seizes up with the fierce possessiveness and satisfaction he feels at seeing his come drip into his lover. 

“Oh fuck, Dean. It’s gorgeous,” he sighs as he aims the rest of the pulses just above where he wants it so he can watch all of it slowly slip down and be swallowed by the greedy hole. One little trickle escapes, and Cas gathers it up with his thumb and guides it home. 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are like air. I need them, please and thank you.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	20. Razors and the Dying Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things do not go as planned for Luke's wedding, and Dean finds a way to make Cas feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some heavy angst in this chapter. I planned the events of this chapter from the beginning, and I feel that they are necessary to get the plot and characters to the next step of their development. 
> 
> I hope you can forgive me. 
> 
> I'll put a more specific warning in the end notes because I don't want to spoil it for those who don't want to see it coming.

It takes just one mention of the royal family travelling together to send Dean into apoplexy. Cas can see the veins bulging out on his neck even under the deep red flush of his skin. Dean is trying to remember his place, be diplomatic, but it’s the most dangerous thing the council has ever suggested. When no one else suggests an alternate option, the words simply burst forth. 

“No, that’s a terrible idea.” 

Conversation screeches to a halt at the unconventional interruption, the eyes of the entire Privy Council lock on Cas’s personal guard. None of the men are under any delusions as to the true nature of the prince’s relationship with the British soldier, but they are tactful enough not to mention it, at least not here. 

Dean clears his throat and looks to Cas for guidance. The prince gracefully picks up the conversation, “What is a terrible idea, Dean?” 

“You shouldn’t travel together. You’ll be moving through long stretches of open countryside, and there are too many unknown variables, especially now that the Russian army is camped throughout the area between here and Bucharest.” 

The army’s general glares at Dean like he’s a nuisance, but he won’t be cowed. He glares back, secure in his knowledge. “Not to mention that as the size of the party grows, it is increasingly more difficult to move swiftly if need be. It would be safer to travel in smaller groups, keeping the princes separate. Ideally, they should take different routes and leave at intervals.” 

Alexander cuts into the debate with swift finality. “We are going home to celebrate a wedding. This is not a military operation. Such precautions are unnecessary. I will be leaving ahead of the rest of my brothers, so it will just be the three of them and their entourage.” 

It takes every iota of will power for Dean to calmly and respectfully remind him, “Forgive me, your highness, but the bride’s family will also be accompanying them, as well as any of the subjects who wish to make the journey. That could easily reach a hundred men, women, and children.” 

The crown prince does not like being questioned. Dean knows this from experience, but he won’t leave Cas’s safety to chance. No one else in this room, other than Cas, is aware that just 48 hours ago the castle was breached by a group of the British army’s most lethal soldiers. The knowledge that they so easily slipped through what he felt was plentiful security is leaving him itchy and unsettled. 

He’s been too wrapped up in the newness of their relationship, letting Cas occupy his every thought and breath, and things are slipping through the cracks. Here in the bosom of protection, this hideaway in the mountains, he’s been too content, too lax in his duties. Outside of this haven, he can’t afford to be anything but vigilant and proactive. 

Alex can tell that Castiel’s guard is not going to relent, which normally would give him the perfect opportunity to slap the man back down into his rightful place. Unfortunately, the fierce, yet eager puppy is also correct in his assessment. He leans back into his chair and taps the table. “What is it that you’re suggesting, Winchester?” 

“I request that I be allowed to make separate arrangements for Castiel’s travel.” 

Dean can see the blush on Cas’s cheeks, the uncomfortable fidget in his hands. His prince feels that he is fussing over him and making it too public an issue. Too fucking bad. He’ll bear the burden of asking for what Cas deserves. 

“Granted,” Alex growls, dismissing him. 

*****

On the road, Cas rides at his side, their horses nickering their happiness at the extended run. When they stop to rest, Raz rests his head on Baby’s neck, their bodies nudging and bumping together. Dean watches with fond amusement. “Your boy is trying to seduce my Baby.” 

Cas leans into Dean, mimicking the affectionate touches. “I think he’s got the right idea.” 

Dean chuckles and kisses his temple. “Not going to happen, angel. You’re not going to distract me. If your brother came through here with his family-to-be and found us all wrapped up in each other on the side of the road, we’d never hear the end of it.” 

Cas pouts so prettily that Dean’s resolve weakens. He leans in to tug on the plump bottom lip with his teeth, giving enough pressure to make it sting a bit. “Besides, it’s not safe to linger too long.” 

Cas sucks in a breath and his eyes lower with increased interest. “You’re sending very mixed signals, dragal meu.” 

“Listen to my words, Cas. I can’t help how my body reacts to you, despite my best intentions.” 

As the few other guards traveling with them stretch and swig from their canteens, Cas manages to entice Dean deeper into the cover of trees. Dean can’t let him have his way, not completely. On the other hand, he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself seeing Cas dressed in this outfit. As part of his security plan, he had Cas wear the same uniform as any other Wallachian guard. He finds it fascinating to picture Castiel as a common soldier, one of the thousands that Dean might have met in battle conditions. They might have worked together, fought together, bunked together. Lewd thoughts of what he wanted to do to Cas overlaid his memories of overcrowded tents and long, bleak nights. 

To anyone that didn’t know the prince, they would simply look like a small squad of soldiers. That is, until you looked closely. There’s no way that anyone could miss his regal bearing, his arrogant intelligence, or his assumption of obedience, if they paid attention. 

That assumption is perhaps why he finds himself leaning into a rough-barked tree, Cas kneeling in front of him, his cock swallowed deep into his throat. Dean’s broken pants and rough curses seem to echo in the quiet of the forest. Cas pulls off and scolds him. “If you can’t be quiet, we’re going to trade places.” 

Dean looks down at the crystalline blue, snapping with heat. His lips are swollen and red to match the flush of his face. As Dean rubs a thumb across the sticky spit clinging to his lips, he praises, “Look at you, angel. You’re breathtaking.” 

Cas tries to be annoyed, but when he scoffs and rolls his eyes, the gestures are as flimsy as gauze. Cas gets back to servicing Dean’s cock while jacking his own. They are only in this position because Cas convinced Dean that he could get them both off in less than ten minutes, and neither of them would have to disrobe. With three minutes gone by, Dean thinks he’s going to make his goal with time to spare. Cas is so fucking good at this that Dean is addicted. He will never be able to say no to this when Cas offers. Never. His toes curl in his boots and his back is arching as his testicles draw up. He fists both hands in his hair, trying to displace the need to shout and moan and thrust. 

Cas is swallowing around his whole length, tears being pushed out of his eyes because there just isn’t any more space for them. Dean watches him withdraw and then slide all the way back down. Dean risks moving a hand to Cas’s throat to feel the bump of his cock as it invades and stretches him. Fuck if that isn’t the most obscene, gorgeous feeling. Resting his hand there, he squeezes minutely and Cas groans, needful and aching. The vibrations thrum around Dean and he tips his head back on a silent scream as orgasm inundates him. Cas drinks down his rich, creamy come, letting Dean’s beautiful cock buck against his tongue to deliver the last drops. 

Dean has been watching Cas greedily lap up his come for weeks. He still can’t figure out why Cas is so enamored with it. He’s tasted it second hand from their kisses and licked away the bitter drops of precum when he’s used his mouth on Cas. A hint of the taste, or a drop or two, is far and away different from a flood of it filling his mouth. What if he chokes? What if the taste is awful? 

But. It would make Cas happy. 

Cas doesn’t push, he’s never even suggested it, but Dean knows with certainty that if he let Cas come in his mouth and he swallowed it down with the kind of enthusiasm Cas shows him? It would make Cas incredibly happy. 

Decision made, Dean pulls Cas to his feet, cock still in hand, confusion on his face. Before he drops down in front of the prince, he warns, “Don’t get weird about this. I’m just returning the favor, okay?” 

Cas nods, and once in position, feeds his thick cock between Dean’s lips. His jaw aches from the start, but it is a dull ache that will remind him of the experience later. Cas tilts Dean’s head correctly so that he can take more of him, let him slide deeper. Dean’s been working on his gag reflex, trying to perfect his novice technique. Eventually, he wants to be able to drive Cas wild with his mouth. Someday. 

Gripping his hips in both hands, Dean encourages Cas to make gentle thrusts. A big hand cups the back of his head and pulls him in as he thrusts forward. The girth of Cas’s cock is so wide that his breath is being cut off even before he can pop the head into his throat. “This won’t last long, Dean. Seeing you fall apart for me has me right on the edge.” 

Dean knows how much Cas loves looking down into his face while his lips are split wide on his cock, so he maintains eye contact. Bliss and agony look down on him. “I can still taste you, sweetheart.” 

Dean groans at the thought because it’s obvious how much Cas loves it. “Shit,” Cas breathes through the vibrations. Dean is thinking too much; he’s panicking with anticipation. Thankfully, when he swallows around the fat cock, Cas starts twitching, an infallible signal that he’s about to come. 

“Let go, Dean,” Cas nudges him back, but he holds firm. Confusion in his eyes, he explains through labored breath, “Baby, I’m almost there.” 

Dean wills him to see the decision in his eyes. When Dean sucks and licks with renewed vigor, the answer comes to Cas with a bubbled out laugh. “Oh, you’re so good to me.” 

An almost silent gasp above him accompanies the first rush of warmth in his mouth. Cas is biting his lip, trying to keep quiet, but Dean can feel the tremors wracking his body. The next pulse fills his mouth enough that he has to swallow. When he does, a strangled sound escapes the prince, who is watching hungrily. “So good, Dean.” 

And it is. It’s fine. Thick, salty, earthy; but it’s all Cas. Dean has an epiphany in that moment. He understands Cas’s fascination. Part of the man he loves is sliding down his throat. It’s his now. He understands the possessive desire to keep part of Cas, to feel that connection linger long after their clothes are straightened and they keep riding for Bucharest. 

When they camp for the night, they share a small tent set as far away from the other guards as they can and still maintain a safe perimeter. Dean can only imagine how weird it is for them to be camping out with two men in a committed relationship. Last year, he would have been mortified. 

Knowing that Cas is not a morning person, Dean builds the fire and starts coffee as soon as dawn breaks. He took the last watch, so he’s been up for a couple of hours already. He and the guards are used to roughing it. They’ve all done tours of duty and had to live off the land for weeks or months at a time. This is probably the first time Cas hasn’t slept indoors. Dean packed some items that were not strictly necessary to help him feel more comfortable, including extra furs and blankets to make a thicker palette. Hopefully it was enough. 

Cas crawls out from the tent, bleary-eyed and pitiful, when coffee permeates the air. He flops down beside Dean, who immediately puts a mug of coffee in his hands. “I love you so much,” Cas praises while blowing on the hot liquid. 

“Are you talking to me or the coffee, angel?” 

“You, of course. You made the miracle of coffee without a stove. You’re magical.” 

Dean chuckles and does a visual perimeter sweep. They haven’t seen another soul on their journey, let alone any trouble, but something is setting his teeth on edge. It’s probably just the thought of being out of the castle, out in the open. He feels vulnerable. 

*****

They still have another day to travel, but Cas is feeling the anticipatory dread of being back in the capital. He puts it off as long as possible every year, and this year he almost escaped returning at all. Everything in Bucharest is grander, more formal, and his predilections are not tolerated as they are in Peleş. He and Dean will have to be more subtle. 

“Dean?” 

His stunning guard gives him his full attention and he urges Raz to step in time with his horse. 

“We should talk about what’s going to happen when we arrive.” 

“We still have another day. Do you really want to worry about the itinerary -” 

“No,” Cas interrupts. He sighs. “It is much more conservative in the capital than in Sinaia, and there are over a hundred thousand people living there. As the royal family, we will be under a microscope.” 

“Are you telling me that I can’t kiss you in public, angel?” Dean is teasing, but Cas thinks he sees a bit of hurt behind his eyes. 

“As much as it pains me, yes. I’m afraid that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Cas doesn’t imagine the disappointment that crosses Dean’s face this time. He reaches a hand over to rest on his arm. “I don’t like it, either. I have a part to play in public, but nothing will change what we are behind closed doors.” 

Dean clears his throat. “We don’t have to worry about loose lips wagging in the palace?” 

Cas winks at him. “Gossip is the primary source of amusement in such a stodgy place. We much do our part to keep the servants entertained.” 

“As long as you don’t plan on having theater seating in our bedroom, I suppose that’s fair.” 

Cas barks out a laugh. “That would be quite a sight.” His eyes spark interest all along the bulk of Dean’s body. “Although, we could make a fortune if we charged people for the privilege of watching you come. You’re absolutely gorgeous.” 

Dean’s look of disgust tries to mask the blush on his cheeks. Cas watches the adorable bashfulness take over his normally stern countenance. Cas could admire that look for hours. 

If it didn’t shift alarmingly fast into distress. 

Cas follows his eyes to the road in front of them. They are leaving the open plains and entering a thick wood, but up ahead, in the shadows, the road is obstructed. Dean reins in to force the entire group to a halt. One quick look tells Cas that Dean has slipped on the armor of his training. He is in warrior head space, and Cas needs to let him lead. His jaw is set, his eyes eagle-sharp. There is an economy of motion to him now, a silence as he slips to the ground and goes to investigate. 

Cas’s heart gallops in his chest. Raz notices the shift in mood and nickers uneasily. He watches the silhouette of his beloved move around the unknown objects ahead. Fear twists his stomach, making him nauseated and unsettled. When Dean reappears, his face is stony, his shoulders tense. As he gets closer, Cas sees immense sadness in his eyes. No. Please, no.

“Dean?” he pleads, wanting to be reassured that he’s guessed wrong. 

When Dean closes his eyes to steel himself for what he has to report, Cas knows. Those broken shapes ahead are what’s left of Michael’s traveling party. 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Dean’s voice tries to soothe him, but it breaks on the endearment, a tear slipping from his lashes. Cas is off his horse and trying to move toward the scene of destruction. Dean wraps him up in a firm hold. 

“No, Cas. You don’t want to see that.” 

“I have to-” 

“No.” 

“We have to do something! What if they need help?” Cas is bordering on hysterical, his brain not comprehending, not willing to believe. 

“They don’t need anything. Not anymore.” 

Shattered anguish escapes from his throat, which keeps threatening to close up. He can’t take his eyes from the grim shapes, hoping against reason to see movement. Any movement. Watery haze fades their edges into shades of gray. Acceptance leads to the first sob of grief and then he can’t make them stop. He stands in the comforting circle of Dean’s embrace and falls apart. He hears voices, feels the echoing rumble of Dean’s voice answering through his chest, but he can do nothing but mourn. 

Dean should be helping the other soldiers look for whoever slaughtered Michael and his guards. There aren’t enough of them by half, and he already had to send Ion ahead to bring the news to Alexander. He hated sending him alone, but they don’t have anyone else to spare. The men need him, but he can’t leave Cas here alone for this. His brother was just murdered. 

He’s also trying to block him from seeing any of the brutal violence brought upon the unsuspecting group. He’s seen battlefields pooled with less blood than what is currently congealing a few yards away. No one and nothing was spared. The sick bastards even butchered the horses rather than take them as a prize or give them their freedom. 

This was not a robbery, it was an assassination, and that is the third reason that he can’t make himself unwrap his body from Cas’s. A very real threat is in the air, murderous intent aimed at his prince. Dean can’t let himself dwell on it. When he lets the image of Michael’s mutilated body into his mind to contemplate, he can’t help but think, what if? What if they had left first? It might be Cas’s body there, drained of blood and cooling. A whimper of desperation escapes his lips, and he pulls Cas tighter to him. 

They’re too exposed here. There aren’t enough of them to keep Cas safe. Dean is shaking with panic he never feels. He can’t control the outcomes when he doesn’t know what the variables are. He doesn’t know how many of the enemy are out there. Hell, he doesn’t even know who their enemy is. 

It could be the Russian soldiers, that’s the most likely scenario. However, from what Cas has told him, it seems like Austria has also taken an interest in their little principality. They could be attempting to steal Wallachia away from Russian occupation now that the powerful Ottoman Empire has left its borders. Christ, but this is a convoluted mess. 

Luke is traveling with a large group. He should take Cas to the safety of numbers. He waves Matei over and explains his plan. 

“We’ll take care of the debris and bury the men here. We’ll follow as soon as we can.” 

“You’ll bring the prince’s body?” Dean asks, hating to ask them to shoulder one more gruesome task. 

“Of course. We’ll have to take turns so we don’t wear out our mounts, but-” 

“Take Fetiță. She can carry him.” When Matei looks unsure, Dean explains, “I don’t think the prince can ride on his own right now, and Raz is strong enough to carry us both.” 

Dean doesn’t take a deep breath until the beast of a horse is pointed north, chewing up the miles with his massive legs. Cas’s weight against his chest is his touchstone. He can get through this day; he will be strong for Cas and take care of whatever needs to be done as long as he can reach out and know he is protected. 

Dean rides through the night, thinking that they should reach Luke’s camp by dawn. When day breaks bright and clear, another creep of dread wraps itself around his throat. Cas hasn’t spoken in hours, but that’s understandable. He’s been fading in and out, letting Dean carry his weight. 

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Cas croaks, his voice rough with disuse and despair. 

“Um, nothing. I’m just being a little paranoid.” 

Cas leans up in the saddle to see his face. He waits for an explanation that he knows will come. 

“I just expected to run across Luke’s camp by now.” 

A brief shock of fear crosses his face, but Cas blinks it away and tucks his face into Dean’s neck. He kisses the ink-black hair behind his ear and whispers, “Let’s hope I’m wrong.” 

Cas murmurs back, “You never are.” 

 

Dean hates being right. The second panicked horse tries to run past them, but he puts Raz in its path. It stops to greet the big stallion, and Dean manages to snatch the reins. Just like the one that rushed by several minutes ago, the Cuza family crest is branded into the saddle. Fuck. 

Within fifteen minutes, they find chaos. Thankfully, people are still running around or huddled around makeshift fires. The carriages are the center of the maelstrom, both of them on their sides and broken open like gourds. Dean’s eyes are scanning quickly, taking inventory and assessing. Only a small line of bodies cover the ground, mostly men he doesn’t know, but some wearing his colors, too. He swallows around the lump in his throat. Good men perished here, but for what reason? 

A guard spots them and comes running, others following quickly. “Thank heavens you are unharmed, your highness!” 

Cas sits up, his air of authority slipping on like a mask. He nods his thanks while asking, “What happened here?” 

“Men attacked the carriages just as we were packing up camp this morning. They were fast, and it was all over before we really had a chance to get our feet under us.” 

Cas breathes deep. “And my brother?” 

The guard looks down and hesitantly replies, “He is injured, your highness. He was in the carriage when they attacked.” 

Dean lends his strength by leaning into Cas, the gesture unnoticed by the people surrounding them. Cas squeezes his knee in response. “Bring me to him.” 

The first thing Dean notices when they duck into the large tent beneath the trees is that Luke’s condition was misrepresented. He is severely injured, and by the look of his gray pallor; he might not survive the day. Cas gasps and staggers over to him, falling to his knees by the pallet. 

“Oh god, Luke!” 

“Don’t cry, mic unul. I’ll be fine.” Luke’s kind eyes try to reassure his little brother, even through tremendous pain. Cas loses track as he attempts to catalogue his injuries, but the worst is a shard of wood sticking out of his abdomen. 

“Why hasn’t anyone removed that?” Cas can hear the unhinged panic in his voice, but he can’t control it. 

“They can’t, sweetheart,” Dean responds, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Not here. He could bleed out if any vessels are ruptured underneath.” 

Cas covers his mouth with his hands, perhaps to keep in the screams that want to pour out. The brothers sit in silence, bolstering each other with their presence. 

“Luke? Michael’s gone.” Cas reports sadly. Luke sighs and reaches for Cas’s hand. “Well, shit. I was going to ask him to marry Lillianna if I don’t make it.” 

His attempt at a joke failing, Cas kisses his hand and begs him not to talk that way. Just to be an asshole, Luke teases, “I’d ask you, but I think Winchester would finish me off if I suggested it.” 

Cas does huff out a laugh, but stops abruptly when Luke winces. “Is there anything I can do, brother?” 

“I’m just glad you’re here and safe.” Luke’s eyes are getting heavy, so Cas doesn’t reply, just lets him drift off. When his breathing evens out, Cas asks the medic in a detached, icy voice, “Will he survive?” 

The man sputters, “Oh, he-he'll be right as rain, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Cas snarls. 

The shift is dramatic enough to set Dean back on his heels, and the medic is terrified. He can no longer form words, just gapes at the prince like a guppy. Cas scoffs and looks at Dean. “You have some training in this area, obviously.” 

“Yes,” he agrees. 

“Will he survive?” 

“Cas, there’s no way to know if-” 

“I can’t believe you’re going to stand there and lie to me!” 

Dean narrows his eyes. “I’m not lying. I’m trying to explain th-” 

“I should have known that you’d try to handle me with kid gloves,” he grouses. “God forbid fragile Castiel have to deal with hard truths.” 

“This has been a horrifying day, sweetheart. Of course I’m trying to be gentle.” 

“Go fuck yourself. I don’t want your gentleness.” 

Dean is breathing like a bull, hands clenched, but he looks to the medic with a grimace. “If you’ll excuse us for a minute.” 

He grabs Cas’s elbow harshly, guiding him up and out of the tent at a swift clip. 

“Let go of me,” he hisses at Dean. 

“Not a fucking chance,” comes the growled answer. 

Cas struggles and Dean threatens, “If you don’t stop thrashing, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you.” 

Cas immediately straightens, walking with steel in his spine. 

Once they are out of earshot, Dean stops and Cas rounds on him immediately. “How dare you manhandle me like that!” 

Dean smirks, “You usually like it when I -” 

He hears the sound of the slap before it actually registers as pain. Cas has a little more power in his arms than Dean anticipated. It’s fine, though. He can take it. “Is that all you’ve got, my prince?” he sneers, provoking and antagonizing. Cas shoves him with a feral sound. 

“Don’t you ever-” Cas shoves him again. “try to handle me like that again.” 

Dean steps up to him again, chest puffed up and challenging. 

“I don’t need you to protect me!” Shove. “I’m an adult, not a child for you to coddle.” Shove. 

Cas keeps pushing him away, and Dean keeps returning for more. “I can deal with this on my own!” 

Finally, his anger fizzles as his body tires, and the next sound out of his mouth is a choked sob. 

Dean has him in his arms before he can draw another breath. He rubs his back soothingly as Cas lets out the overwhelming anger, fear, and pain. When the heartbreaking sounds settle to hiccuping and sniffles, he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

“Shhh. It’s okay, angel,” he whispers. 

“Oh god, I didn’t mean to hit you,” he gasps, getting wound up for another reason. 

“Just breathe, sweetheart. Deep and slow.” Dean models the breathing, letting Cas just sink into him and mimic. When he’s cried out and calm, Dean asks, “Feeling better?” 

Cas looks up at him with red rimmed eyes gone glassy and unfocused. “Yes, thank you.” 

“Let me know when you’re ready to head back. You know they’re all going to be looking to you to lead them. What do you want to do?” 

Cas gapes, furrows his brow, rubs his hands over his face with a long inhale. “We’ve got to go back to Peleş. There’s no way Luke can make it all the way to Bucharest.” 

Dean nods his agreement and lets Cas continue thinking out loud. “I need to send someone ahead for a doctor.” Cas leans against a tree. 

“We need to find out who did this, who our enemies are.” 

“Do you have any ideas?” 

“Yes, but I’d like to hear what you think. You have more experience in this area.” 

Dean raises a brow, and Cas looks sheepish. “I know what I said. I was lashing out. I don’t want to do this alone. I need you.” 

Taking pity on Cas, Dean kisses him on the forehead and brushes his hands down his arms. “I need you, too, Cas. We’re in this together. I’m here. Whatever you need, just ask.” 

“I love you so much.” 

“Mmm. Love you, too.” 

Cas turns to walk back, lacing his hand with Dean’s. 

 

***** 

 

Dean is incredibly proud of his prince. When they emerged from the trees, he took on the mantle of responsibility for the traumatized group, firmly and patiently assigning tasks. He made a thousand decisions in the day that it took them to get home, and he’s since stepped in for the crown prince as well as his other two brothers. Anyone who ever doubted that Cas was meant to rule is now eating their words. He’s magnificent and in command; his razor-sharp mind working constantly, his authority fierce. 

He has enlisted an entire division of the army to find his brothers’ attackers. He’s set up a trust for the Dobrescu family to provide for them as wards of the state if Luke should not be able to marry. He planned his brother’s funeral, kept the castle running smoothly, and he sat by Luke’s bedside, watching him wither away. 

He makes it all look effortless. 

Except to the one person who sees the weight of it all crushing him. 

As days go by without any answers, his frustration knows no bounds. His temper is like a spark on a powder keg. Dean can see that the longer he sits helpless, the more damage is being done. Cas is hollowed out, becoming a shell of what he once was. 

It’s killing Dean to watch Cas wake up every morning, a momentary softness and contentment on his face before it all comes crashing back. With the realization comes the mask he hides behind, and it’s like watching him turn to stone. 

When Alexander returns, Dean feels relief, thinking that Cas will share the burden with his brother. Instead, Cas becomes more withdrawn, more intent on forcing answers from those who don’t have them. 

“It’s impossible that there isn’t a single clue left behind!” he bellowed this evening after the latest disappointment, hurling a crystal decanter into a wall of the Council Room. When an advisor unwisely tried to correct him, Dean had to physically restrain Cas from choking the life out of him. 

Dean puts him to bed, begging him to get some rest. Cas relents and closes his empty eyes. Dean goes back to the Council Room, ready to clean up the mess his beloved left in his wake. The broken pieces have been cleared and only Alexander remains. 

“Forgive me, your highness. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Dean gives him a perfunctory bow and turns. 

“Winchester,” Alex calls. “Come here.” 

He, of course, listens. He stands in parade rest, formally waiting. “I wanted to apologize for not listening to your warnings. You were right to be concerned for our safety, and my arrogance cost the life of my brother, and may well take another one before long. If anyone ever had the right to say ‘I told you so', it’s you.” 

Dean scowls. “I don’t want that, sir. I don’t ever want to be right at the expense of your family. Right now, I’m just want to help them heal.” 

Alex contemplates his answer. “The best way to do that is to be there for Castiel. He does not do well when he feels helpless. He needs you right now. Continue to be his rock, and for god’s sake, don’t let him go back to what he was before you.” 

“Of course, your majesty.” 

 

***** 

 

After making his rounds and checking in with the guards on duty, he returns to their room to find that Cas is out of bed. Dean isn’t surprised. What does surprise him is that Cas is practicing yoga again. It’s been a long time since he’s seen his prince do something constructive for himself. 

Candles are lit everywhere, that blessed incense burning. Cas is wearing only loose pants, his chest and feet bare. Dean waits patiently for him to finish the cycle he is working through. When he turns to start it over again, he sees Dean watching. 

Caught in his gaze, Dean approaches slowly. “I didn’t know if you’d be back.” 

“I will always come back.” 

Cas huffs in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic, Dean. I just thought you were angry with me and might want some space.” 

“I wasn’t angry. I was worried. You’re not a violent person.” 

Cas looks away. “I think some people in this castle might question that assessment.” 

Dean dismisses the thought. “Well, I know better.” 

Watching his lovely guard just stand in front of him, he senses something shifting. Dean maintains eye contact, his mind still. “What are you up to?” 

Dean smiles beatifically. “I want to give you something.” 

“Okay.” 

Dean slowly eases down to his knees, hands clasped behind him, head bowed. 

Cas sucks in a breath through his nose, shock warring with desire at seeing Dean kneeling at his feet. Heat races through him, flames licking at his spine. This is exactly what he wants, and he doesn’t think he has the willpower to say no. His hands are trembling at his sides. 

“Dean, please don’t do this if you have even a little doubt. It would be better to wait and know for sure. I don’t think I would survive having this and then having to give it up. Please. Are you certain?” 

The plea in Cas’s voice shakes, emotion thick. 

Dean calmly looks up to meet his eye. “I am yours in every way, Cas. You have given to me since the day we met. This is something that I can give you, that I want to offer to you.” 

Cas blinks back tears at the selfless pledge. Dean bows his head again, reverence in his voice, “You have my love and devotion already. I’m giving you my obedience, my willing and enthusiastic submission.” 

Cas drops to his knees in front of Dean, grasping his face with both hands and kissing him breathless. “You’re so perfect for me. I love you so much.” 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Character death in this chapter. It isn't Cas or Dean. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope the ending helped ease the sting?
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr here](https://angelaland.tumblr.com)


	21. Willing Submission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns what submission means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all about Cas teaching Dean about dominance and submission and how they explore it together. There is a healthy dose of smut, but I think it turned out fairly reverent and beautiful, which is what I wanted for Dean's... well, you'll see.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cas pulls back to look at his beautiful Dean. Despite his outward stoicism and roughness, Dean is sweet, trusting; he’s still so unbearably innocent by the world’s standards. Once, Cas had been intent on dirtying him up, befouling his purity, but not anymore. Now, he feels a fierce need to protect, possess, and cherish him. 

Dean meets his eye and then looks away. He’s fidgeting, which is totally out of character. He seems suddenly unsure of himself, skittish as a colt. ‘Of course he is,’ Cas thinks with a smile. ‘He doesn’t know what to expect.’ 

Taking the situation firmly in hand, Cas rubs his thumb just under his cheekbone, forcing his face up. “Okay, sweetheart. If you’re going to be my submissive, we need to establish a few rules.” 

“Okay,” hesitation is clear in his voice. 

“Remember what I told you about submission? You are giving me control over you. When we are playing, you don’t have to anticipate, you don’t have to think, you don’t have to do anything other than obey.” 

“How will I know when we’re ‘playing’?” 

“I will always ask your permission first. We will always agree.” 

Dean bites his lip shyly. “What if I want to do something and you haven’t asked?” 

Cas feels fondness swell his heart. “Then you’ll ask my permission. Even if our dynamic looks like I hold the power, we are partners in this. We only do things that both of us want.” 

“What if I think I want something and then it’s too much?” 

“You will have a signal, a safe word, that calls an immediate stop to everything we are doing. If you say it, I will stop, no matter what.” 

“I-I don’t think I want that.” 

Cas tilts his head to the side, “Why would you not want that? It’s for your protection, Dean.” 

“It seems like having a safety net, like a way to chicken out.” Dean furrows his brow in disgust. 

The prince chuckles at his brave warrior and kisses his pursed lips. Of course he would equate using a safe word to surrender. “It’s not like that at all, my darling. It’s how we check in with each other. If you are feeling less than enthusiastic, I want to know so we can adjust. That’s all.” 

“It still feels weak. Why can’t I just tell you to stop?” 

“Because sometimes you might say one thing and mean another.” 

Dean observes the primal look in Cas’s eyes carefully, trying to understand what he means. A trickle of fear creeps up his neck. He doesn’t understand, but there is a promise in Cas’s eyes that lets him know that he will, very soon. He clears his throat. 

“Will you have one, too?” 

“Of course, Dean. In the past, I’ve had to use my safe word to get out of situations.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t want to get into details, but suffice it to say that either I was not in the right head space for what was happening, or I was uncomfortable with it.” 

Dean nods curtly. Cas is feeling a desperate need to take Dean in hand, literally. He’s been given a gift that he is itching to unwrap and try out. His hands go to his slender hips, gripping into the firm muscle. It’s been a long time since he’s touched Dean, lately grief and duty have taken the desire from him. Feeling the hard, unyielding flesh sends his heart racing. He wants to worship this perfection. He struggles to keep to the task at hand. 

“Your safe word needs to be something that you will remember, but not likely to be used in conversation, especially during sex.” 

“What’s yours?” 

“Albină.” 

Dean scours his memory for the translation. He’s more or less fluent in Romanian at this point, but the word alludes him. 

“It means honey bee.” 

Dean chuckles. “Okay, that won’t come up in conversation much, you’re right. What if I forget?” 

Cas rubs thumbs over the sharp hipbones under their reach. “You won’t. We’ll say them before we begin any play.” 

Dean can see the lust riding Cas, can feel the change in the air between them. All it takes is a lingering look at Cas’s lips, and his prince breaks. Leaning to close the distance, he licks into Dean’s mouth, possessive and greedy. Dean finds himself pulled into the quickening storm. The taste of Cas, being in his hands, is addictive and he has missed it acutely. He’s felt hollowed out, empty, even as Cas was next to him every day. 

Cas pulls away too soon, resting their heads together to find a little control. “We can continue that soon.” He isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to placate. Maybe both. “Talk now, sex soon.” 

Dean groans his disapproval, but he lets Cas guide him up and over to their bed. “If we’re not going to have sex right now, can you put on a shirt?” Dean pouts at the incredibly distracting muscles on display. 

Cas looks him over, taking in everything. Dean knows what his answer will be when he grins wickedly. “Absolutely not. In fact, you’re wearing too many clothes.” 

Cas steps into his space, the tone of his voice exuding a rough air of authority, “Strip.” 

Dean freezes, blinking at the order that is so unlike his lover. Cas has always been careful and gentle with him. When he doesn’t immediately comply, Cas growls, “Now, Dean.” 

A thrill bubbles up through his chest, igniting every nerve ending in his body simultaneously. He huffs out a whimper and jumps to obey. He is naked in a puddle of discarded clothing in seconds, his breath already coming quick and harsh. 

Cas touches his shoulder and lets the contact linger. “Bine!” he praises quietly. 

“Now, let’s get you into position. On your knees, Dean.” 

Dean drops without hesitation, landing on the fur rug. He resumes the position he adopted earlier, but Cas makes an annoyed sound. “Stop anticipating, Dean. I will tell you what I want. Your job is to let me guide you. Understand?” 

Dean nods, swallowing around the embarrassment of displeasing Cas already. Cas runs his hand through his hair almost immediately, soothing him and tipping his head up to meet his eyes. “I know this is new to you, sweetheart. Submitting to me runs counter to everything you’ve ever known. It will take time for our expectations to mesh, so be patient. The sooner you let yourself trust me, the easier the transition will be.” 

“I do trust you, Cas.” 

“You don’t trust me as your Dom yet. You will,” he promises. The shift to Cas’s dominant voice is seamless. “Now, when I ask you to be ready for me, I expect you naked on this rug, facing the bed and kneeling with your knees wide, palms resting on your thighs, eyes closed. Show me.” 

Dean moves to adjust into the requested position. Cas pushes down on his shoulders, forcing his stance wider, making him sit back on his heels. “Bine. Chin up. Perfect. This is ready position.” 

Cas makes him stand and get back into ready position four more times, until he trusts that he can repeat it flawlessly. “You learn quickly, draga. I knew you would.” 

“Years of military training,” Dean admits. 

Cas smiles. He waits, lets the moment stretch. He can tell by the twitching of Dean’s muscles that he is feeling the intentional vulnerability of the position. His back is to the rest of the room, he’s spread wide, and his eyesight has been taken from him. He wants to see how Dean will deal with it before he moves on. Dean takes a deep breath and expels it, straightens his spine. That’s it. No more fidgeting. He’s calm and serene. Cas is proud of how quickly he self-adjusts and settles. Dean’s obedience is impressive. “Beautiful, Dean.” 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” 

He looks up through long lashes, and Cas has to bite his lip to keep himself on track. Dean is completely out of his element, undoubtedly questioning his decision, and still he’s outwardly calm, hard cock bobbing between his spread legs. 

“When we are playing, you will address me with a title of respect. You will not refer to me by name, understood?” 

“What should I call you?” 

“Stăpân” 

“Stăpân,” Dean repeats, filling Cas with a tight eagerness. “What does it mean?” 

“It has several meanings. Lord and master.” Dean swallows hard. Cas goes still, letting him feel his presence. “Or Sovereign.” He runs the back of his index finger down Dean’s cheek and adds, “Owner.” 

Dean’s breath hitches and Cas can feel how he is battling within himself. His struggle to obey is beautiful, and it makes Cas yearn to break him wide open and then spend days putting him back together. 

“Say it.” 

“Yes, Stăpân.” 

Cas hums in satisfaction. “Beautiful,” he praises. 

“What will you call me?” 

A quirk of lips makes a smug, lopsided smile. “Whatever I want.” 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes as his cock jerks. 

Cas is always incredibly sexy, but this side of him makes Dean burn. He’s starting to realize just how much Cas has been reining in this dominant side of himself. He’s feeling overwhelmed by the change from his sweet prince to this intimidating man full of authority and power. He’s seen signs of it, sure; he’s a prince used to being obeyed. 

This is so much more. Dean feels ensnared in his gaze, uncertain of what will be asked, but knowing he will deliver. He’s pledged his fealty, after all. He will give Cas what he wants. What is the word Cas keeps demanding? Oh yes, enthusiastically. 

“Your pleasure belongs to me now. I will decide when and how you receive it. Understood?” 

“Y-yes, Stăpân.” 

“That didn’t sound like you believe it, Dean. What is your objection?” 

“No objection. It was a very broad statement. I’m not sure I understand exactly what you mean, Stăpân.” 

“Bine. Always better to double-check than assume.” Cas holds his hand down for Dean to take and helps him to his feet. “On the bed. I want to show you another position.” 

Dean sits and Cas twirls his finger to indicate that he should turn. Guiding him up on his hands and knees, he meets Dean’s eye in silent challenge while he puts pressure on his neck steadily. Dean doesn’t look away until his cheek touches the bed and his position won’t allow their eyes to connect. 

“This is presentation position. If I’m going to play with your ass, I’ll want you in this position.” 

Cas turns away to retrieve the flask of oil on the bedside table. He coats his fingers and explains, “When I said that I control your pleasure, I meant that you are not allowed to give yourself pleasure unless it is at my command. If you are to have an orgasm, I will be the one to give it to you. If I decide you shouldn’t have one, you won’t. No exceptions. Understood?” 

Dean is hesitant. This feels like crossing a boundary. He isn’t sure he’s ready to give up this much control of his own body. The silence is broken by a resounding slap and Dean’s eyes go wide as stinging pain bursts across his ass cheek. 

“I asked you a question, pet. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Stăpân,” he whispers. 

Immediately, the hand that struck him caresses the skin. “Bine.” 

Cas climbs on the bed behind him, and Dean feels tingling anticipation run down his back. He can’t see Cas and doesn’t know what he has planned. This position leaves him completely at his mercy, ass up and stretched wide. His ass clenches involuntarily and Cas huffs out a ‘tsk’ing sound. “Relax, Dean.” 

Hands lift and separate the globes of his ass, exposing his pink hole even more. Slick fingers run down the crease, and his hand turns to let his thumb rub in circles around the furled muscle, wetting it and helping him relax. “Have you decided on your safe word, Dean?” 

Such an innocuous question. In any other moment, it would sound caring, concerned. Now, though? It sounds like the threat of danger, imminent and real. 

“Um, Hawke.” 

“Hawke? Your title?” 

“Y-yes.” 

Cas grips his cheek harshly in warning. Dean leaps to correct the mistake. “Yes, Stăpân.” 

“Your safe word is Hawke. Mine is Albină. Repeat them.” 

“My safe word is Hawke and yours is Albină.” 

“And what happens if either of us uses these words?” 

“Everything stops immediately.” 

“Excellent.” Cas continues his preparation, pushing shallowly into the center of Dean’s rim, forcing it to give to the pressure. As soon as he dips in, he withdraws and tugs around the knotted muscle in circles. He repeats the process, dipping in more each time, letting Dean open slowly. It would happen faster if Dean would get out of his own head, but Cas is nothing if not patient. Dean has never had any experience like this. It will take time to have him pliant and accepting. 

Cas smiles at the clearing of Dean’s throat. Right on time. “Something wrong, Dean?” 

“No,” he replies. Quickly, he adds the title of Stăpân when Cas goes still. “Just curious.” 

“About?” 

“What you have planned.” 

Cas hums, pulling his thumb out of Dean’s hole and sinking his middle finger in all the way to his palm. “I’m going to fuck you, sweetheart.” 

“Now?” Cas shouldn’t laugh at the squeak that emerges when he twists the finger inside Dean. 

“Yes, now.” Cas senses the panic latching on to Dean, and takes hold of his cock, stroking in alternating thrusts with the finger prepping him. “As my submissive, you will be fucked. Often. Whenever and however I want it, so you need to get used to it. Besides, it’s past time to get your virginity out of the way.” 

Dean’s panting now, his heart tripping over itself. He’s about to be fucked for the first time. Shit. Without time to prepare, to wrap his head around it, he feels like he’s been thrown headlong into the ocean. He’s floundering and he’s going under. 

“I don’t know, Cas.” 

Cas hears his panic, and lets the mistake go without remark. “Shh. Baby, I promise that you will enjoy it. Do you remember how much you loved letting me finger fuck you?” 

“Yes,” he hisses as Cas adds a second finger to his hole pushing slowly to make him accommodate the stretch. 

“You were begging me to fuck you then. What changed?” 

“I-I don’t know. Overwhelmed.” 

“Okay, sweet boy. This is when you need to let me carry your burdens. Let me have control, and I will take care of you. I want you to let all of your muscles relax. Concentrate on my voice and nothing else. No other thought is allowed in your brain right now. Yes?” 

“Yes, Stăpân.” Dean tries to do as he is commanded. 

“Breathe in slowly,” Cas quietly reminds. Dean goes pliant in stages. Cas can feel the change in him roll towards him in waves. When Dean sighs, pushing into the fingers working him open, Cas adds a third. Dean tightens up around him for a few seconds, but then moans, his stance widening and ass raised higher. 

“That’s it, baby,” he soothes. Cas is shaking with the anticipation himself. He won’t break character, Dean needs a firm hand right now, and this is the first time he’s had permission to exert his dominance over him. But he’s wanted this for so long. Months. He’s dreamed of having Dean under him, coming undone. His cock is dripping, an urgent need to be inside Dean taking over every rational thought. He knows he needs to stretch him more, but his cock twitches to feel the heat. He needs to have Dean begging for him, desperate, before he sinks inside. It will be easier on him that way, but Cas wants to feel him tighten up around his cock, wants him to struggle until he gives in to the pleasure of being completely full. 

Cas sits back suddenly, slipping his pants off while he tells Dean to turn over. He spills over, letting Cas guide him to his back with a pillow under his hips. His thighs rest over Cas’s, and Dean realizes this is the moment of truth. Cas is holding his thick cock, ready to slide home. Their eyes meet and hold, and Dean feels the tip of him breach his hole. The stretch is more than he anticipated. Cas is so much bigger than his fingers. “Fuck,” he breathes. 

Cas huffs and grins. “That’s the idea, yes.” 

“Ready, Dean?” 

Dean nods, but then Cas pushes and nothing happens. He’s meeting too much resistance, and panic returns. 

Dean pushes him back, “No, baby, you’re too big. It won’t work.” 

Cas calmly replies, “Yes, Dean, you will let me in.” 

Dean is sweating from the tension and exertion, his head thrashing, eyes wide in panic. “No, Cas. You’ll rip me apart.” 

Cas shushes him and makes him breathe deeply again, not retreating or advancing. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but your body is made to stretch. You can take me. I promise. I would never do anything to hurt you.” 

When Dean shakes his head again, Cas waits until he makes eye contact and asks, “Do you want to use your safe word, love?” No judgement, just checking in. 

“No, no, no,” Dean immediately denies it. 

“Alright, dragul meu,” Cas concedes with a smile. “I had to ask.” 

Cas must tread carefully, push him to submit without ignoring any true objections. Cas continues to force his deep breathing with a hand pushing gently on his ribcage to guide him. 

Dean’s brow knits in consternation. He wants to submit. He needs to. But...this feels like a challenge he can’t accomplish. Cas will be disappointed. He doesn’t want to disappoint his angel, his Stăpân. 

He knows that questioning Cas is not what he is supposed to do. He is supposed to trust. He has to let go. He feels as if he is hanging from that cliff again, this time by a mere fingertip. He battles against himself to just release his hold. With every mental push, his grip tightens instead. 

Until Cas grabs his chin and forces him to look at him. Dean doesn’t see his lover, he sees his Dom. 

“Did you or did you not submit to my will?” The absolute power in his tone... his displeasure rankles. 

“I did,” Dean says breathlessly. His cheeks pinking up at the suggestion of his disobedience. 

“And did I ask something of you?” His stern face is demanding an answer. Dean forces himself to swallow around the lump in his throat. 

“Yes,” he whispers. 

Cas sighs in exasperation. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Stăpân.” Something settles in Dean at the title. 

Cas lets the moment drag on. He watches as Dean fidgets. Finally, he asks, “What do I expect when I ask something of you?” 

“Obedience.” 

Cas leans in close to Dean’s ear and changes the tone of their conversation with one simple lick to the bolt of his jaw. Leaning his body down and forward to grind against Dean’s, he asks, “And what is obedience, draga?” 

“Submitting to your will.” 

“Obedience is willing submission, first time and every time. Say it.” 

“Willing submission, first time and every time,” Dean recites on a breathy gasp. 

“Bine,” Cas praises, grabbing the flask of oil, and taking a quick kiss before returning to his knees. 

He slicks up his cock, teasing Dean with a show of how good it feels. “Be a good boy and let me in,” he purrs when his cock nudges at his entrance again. 

Dean looks at the ceiling, trying to relax. Cas pushes in small increments, firm but gentle. Dean knows that something has to give. He feels the drag of his flesh being pulled in with the intrusion. He closes his eyes, concentrating on letting go. Abruptly, that broad head pops through and Dean can feel Cas moving inside. 

His eyes open and his mouth drops on a broken gasp. “Oh fuck, Cas.” 

Cas can’t take his eyes from the connection of their bodies. He pushes forward again, sinking in a couple more inches. Seeing his cock disappear for the first time inside his gorgeous lover, his Dean, is stripping away all control. He feels too much. Gratitude, love, possessiveness, need, joy. It’s all threatening to take over his mind. He needs to get on top of it before he embarrasses himself. 

Dean can feel the slide of Cas against his walls. He’s so thick that every bit of friction is hitting his prostate in a continual rub. A high keening sound comes out of his mouth, which is still hanging open. His hands grip tightly into the sheets. 

Finally, Cas is inside, fully sheathed in Dean. Dean moans and whimpers when he meets Cas’s eye. “Oh god, baby. I can feel you so deep.” 

Cas licks his lips, “You’re perfect. You feel like heaven.” Cas circles his hips, grinding deep into him. Dean leans into the feeling and lets go with another blissful sound. 

Dean sighs, “I feel so full. I didn’t feel empty before, but now I feel...finished.” 

Cas grins at him. “Clench around me, sweetheart.” 

Dean does and gasps. “Oh fuck, that’s so good.” 

Cas’s emotions keep piling up. Now he’s adding pride, affection, bliss. He has to move. When he pulls out from Dean, they both whine at the loss. He sinks back in where he belongs, and Dean clutches at his arms in distress. “Huungh. Oh god, Cas. Baby. Please.” 

“Please what, love? What do you need?” 

“More. Please, Cas. Oh fuck.” Dean’s grip on his arms is knuckle-white and bruising. Cas doesn’t even notice. He’s too caught up in the inferno strangling him, the flames licking over his body, making him sweat. He picks up the pace, friction dragging like lightning along every surface of his body. 

Feeling Cas buried inside of him is amazing, but once he starts moving, Dean feels pleasure on a scale he hadn’t believed possible. “How did I ever live without this?” he cries. 

Cas answers by changing the angle, pushing in even deeper, stealing Dean’s breath and his sanity. Pleasure this intense can’t be sustained. “You’ll have it whenever you want, baby. Every day. Ten times a day, fuck, I’ll never let you leave this bed if that’s what you want.” 

“I do. God, Cas. I really do. I don’t want this to end.” 

Dean is tipping into madness. His body is shaking apart, crumbling around the master of his pleasure. Every time Cas withdraws, it pulls a shiver from deep within, soul deep. When he plunges back in, it fills him with a golden glow, warm and content. 

“Can you take it a little harder, baby?” Cas is panting, at war with himself about how to proceed. He wants this to last, wants them exhausted before he comes, but watching Dean is snapping every shred of control. His stunning sub is writhing, begging, heaving in ecstasy, and he can’t help but be affected by his visceral, guileless responses. His heart is aching at the utter beauty of watching Dean fall apart under him. 

Dean nods, but can’t seem to form whole words. “Y-yea-yea. Har-hard. Mmm.” 

Cas lifts Dean’s leg up to his shoulder, and braces himself. His hips snap forward, creating a loud slap that he can feel jarring his bones. Dean feels it too, and it echoes through his body and out of his mouth as a breathy shout. Cas sets a rough pace, pounding into Dean, pushing and shoving him towards completion. 

Dean’s back arches, his shoulders and head the only parts of him still on the bed, “Oh god, oh fuck. Cas. B-baby. I’m” 

“Are you gonna come on my cock, baby?” 

Dean keens and nods his head. “Yeah, fuck. Cas. Can I?” 

Dean is going to fucking kill him. He’s out of control, mindless with lust, and still asks permission. 

“Please, Stăpân?” he whines. 

The jolt of lust rips through Cas at hearing his broken plea, and he tips over the edge with a shout. “Yes, Dean. Come now. Come with me.” 

The warmth filling him as he feels Cas’s perfect cock pulse sends him toppling into orgasm. It’s better than any that he’s ever felt. With every strong kick of his cock, he feels another deep pulse in his ass, wringing more come from his gorgeous prince. It goes on forever, their bodies feeding off of each other, creating a feedback loop of bliss. 

Cas tips forward, taking Dean’s lips in a consuming kiss around harsh pants. He can feel sweat dripping from his brow, can feel the tremble of tired muscles. He can’t stop kissing Dean. When he starts to pull out, Dean grasps him fiercely. “No, not yet.” 

Cas concedes easily, grinding in as deep as he can. “Anything for you.” 

They kiss, caress, and tremble together, sharing fucked out kisses and whispers of love. After their bodies have settled, Cas tries to pull out again, and Dean pleads for him to stay. 

Cas tilts his head, “What’s going on, baby? Why are you so adamant about this?” 

Dean blushes down to his chest. He strokes his hands over Cas’s hips, digging in possessively as he admits, “We’re connected. I really like it. I’m not ready to lose it.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cas soothes with a kiss. “That makes me incredibly happy, but aren’t you getting a little sore? This is your first time and I fucked you hard.” 

Dean denies it, but Cas can see the twinge of pain flinch across his face when Cas shifts his hips. “I’m completely soft and I’m causing you pain. It’s time.” 

When Cas slips free of his body, his breath hitches and his eyes water. As much as he loved having Cas inside him, and he did with his entire body and soul, he hates this empty feeling. He hates it so much that he has to swallow rapidly to choke back the sob that wants to escape. He closes his eyes to block the absurd tears from falling. 

Cas murmurs that he’s going to get something to clean them up, and he disappears through the curtain surrounding their bed. Dean crosses his legs, squeezes his ass tight, and tries to force himself to stop being ridiculous. He’s a grown man. He’s an elite soldier and a trained killer. He is not going to cry because he got fucked, and now he’s left feeling empty. When he opens his eyes, the traitorous drops fall anyway. 

“Dean! What’s wrong?” Cas looks him over, searching for the cause of his pain. “Did I hurt you?” 

Dean shakes his head and scrubs his face. “Sorry, I’m apparently a little girl after sex.” 

Cas relaxes when he realizes nothing is physically wrong. He crawls up to curl himself around Dean. “Feelings don’t make you a little girl, Dean. They make you human. That’s all. I’m sure that you’ve been taught your whole life that men don’t cry, but that’s utter bullshit.” 

Dean doesn’t say anything, just turns in toward Cas and hides his face in his neck. 

“The more intensely we feel things, the more confused our bodies get, and sometimes we react in ways we don’t expect. You just have to allow yourself to deal with it in whatever way you need to.” 

Cas cleans him up, staying quiet until he’s finished. He wraps his arms around Dean and they settle in to go to sleep. 

“I’m going to keep pushing you, challenging you. I’m going to bring you to highs that you can’t even conceive of right now. I can and will get you to a state of bliss that is better than opiates. Sometimes the highs come with lows when we come back down to Earth. I need you to know that whatever happens, however you react, it’s normal and accepted. I love you. Alright?” 

“Yes, Stăpân. Anything you say, Stăpân.” 

Cas snorts a laugh. “You’re such a little shit. Go to sleep.” 

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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